Save a Place
by A-dono
Summary: Lucas Scott walked away from the woman he loved more than anyone or anything three years ago. Now that she's with someone else, what's left for him other than ruin? Season five AU; LP
1. The Longest Night

**Author's Note: **Hey, here's my newest story. It's going to be multiple chapters, how many, I can't say right now. It's Lucas-centric and it's basically my take on season five. Expect a lot of Leyton. I'll try and get chapters done and up as quickly as I can but I can't set any definite time tables.

The story's title is a song by 1969.**  
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**SAVE A PLACE**

**1. The Longest Night**

He saw her for the first time in three years at the Rivercourt.

Lucas was a little surprised, to say the least. Truth is, he'd always pictured his reunion with Peyton Sawyer happening at their spot on River Road. Countless times he would venture out to that grassy nook desperately trying to hold onto something he'd already lost, and each time he rounded the curve that brought him into eyesight of that special place, some childish whim deep inside him would expect to see her standing there gazing out at the water. He imagined slowly pulling up, shutting the engine off, calmly exiting his car, and strolling up to her side. The two of them would stare at the river for a while, not saying a word, and then they would simultaneously turn to face each other, blurt out "I'm sorry!" in unison, and then kiss.

Yeah, that never happened.

Instead, Peyton materialized in the last place Lucas had expected her to be. He had been at home, pacing restlessly throughout his house, when he'd gotten the urge to do something he hadn't done in awhile. Grabbing his worn old basketball and clad only in jeans and a faded while button-down, Lucas had proceeded to trot towards the Rivercourt bouncing the ball off the pavement and probably annoying half of the neighborhood in the process. Upon reaching his destination, he'd been surprised to see the blacktop aglow with light and a woman standing near the center, arms folded, staring down at something near her feet.

It was a little after nine at night, who else would be here this late? When the thud of the ball bouncing on the court drew her attention to Lucas, a pair of familiar green eyes gave him his answer with all the subtlety of a big-rig slamming into a concrete divider. Peyton Sawyer stood there staring at him with as much shock as he probably felt.

Lucas's breath deserted him the moment his eyes took her in. The curls that he used to love so much were gone, replaced by gentle waves, some of which terminated in wild ringlets and all of which spilled over her shoulders in a brilliant mane. Peyton had always sported bright-blonde hair, but now, it was a darker shade, almost reddish in certain spots, and it looked absolutely astounding on her. She was dressed in tight, form-fitting jeans and a black, long-sleeved shirt that bared just a sliver of midriff and provided a great view of the creamy flesh of her neck-area.

Her body seemed curvier, more filled-out, and while it might have been the high-heeled boots she was wearing, she looked a bit taller than when he'd last seen her. His basketball now tucked between his right arm and side, Lucas had to squeeze it to restrain himself. He wanted to run over, envelop Peyton in his arms, lift her up, twirl her around, then starting kissing her all over. He wanted to run his hands through her mane of golden locks and he wanted take her back to his room and not let her out for a week.

Kind of creepy, he knew, but that's how he honestly felt in that instant. Mostly, though, Lucas wanted to tell her he loved her; he wanted to apologize for being such a dick and walking out on her three years ago, tell her how sorry he was for all the pain he'd caused her, and he wanted to make her see how much he wanted—no, needed—her.

As he cautiously approached her, Peyton's arms unfolded and her body turned to fully face him. She played with her hands, a nervous habit, and she tried to avoid his gaze a couple of times, but inevitably their eyes locked together.

"Hi…" It came out as barely above a whisper, but to Lucas, the sound of her voice after so long was like hearing his favorite song after being struck deaf for years.

"Hi…" All he could do was echo her greeting back to her. Now only a couple of feet apart, Lucas caught a whiff of her familiar scent which frantically excited the already numerous butterflies in his stomach.

"How long has it been?"

Her question struck him as odd. Hadn't she been counting the days like he had? "About three years."

"Yeah…"

Lucas couldn't stand it any longer. He needed to tell her everything he'd wanted to say to her since that disastrous night in LA three years ago. He inched forward. "Look, Peyton, I…"

"Luke." Her voice stopped him cold. It was soft, but firm and louder than before. "I have someone. I mean, I'm with someone."

Her plunging an industrial-grade boning-knife into his chest, slicing down his torso, and cracking his ribs open like a clam would've hurt less than the words that came out of her mouth. Peyton averted her eyes and he wanted to shout at her to look at him, but he said nothing. There was nothing _to_ say.

She was _with someone_. The possibility had always been there, glaring at him from the deepest, darkest corners of his mind. The possibility that Peyton Sawyer could or might move on with someone else, but he'd unconsciously taken a 'See No Evil, Hear No Evil' stance over the years. Lucas had figured out that it was a lot easier to dream about getting back together with Peyton one day if he pretended that simply not finding out she was seeing anyone meant that she actually wasn't seeing anyone.

Well, the illusion had been shattered, which was probably a good thing since it only occurred to Lucas now how stupid that was. _He_ was stupid for having ever let the vision standing before him go in the first place, and now she was _with someone_ else, someone who probably wouldn't let her go so easily.

Lucas Scott felt like dying at that very moment. He gaped helplessly at Peyton and almost recoiled at the pain and sympathy in her gorgeous eyes. That was too much and he needed get out of here. _Now_.

"I should get home," he said. "See you around…I guess."

Peyton sighed. "Lucas…"

Ripping his eyes away from the girl—now woman—that had always had a stranglehold on his heart, Lucas, basketball in his hands, turned and walked away.

Peyton never called after him and perhaps that hurt worst of all.

xxxxx

He didn't see or hear from her for the next two days. Lucas couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. As he'd gone about his daily routines, he'd been looking _out_ for her but he hadn't been actively _looking_ for her, if that made any sense.

As early-evening sunlight infiltrated his bedroom, Lucas shrugged on a long-sleeved white-t then covered it with a dark-grey button-down. The get-together at Nathan and Haley's technically wasn't supposed to start till around eight but Lucas wanted to get there an hour early and help set up. Nathan's recent acceptance into the ranks of the Charleston Chiefs, a developmental league team, was cause for celebration and Haley had insisted on everyone being there.

As he was pretty sure that 'everyone' also meant Peyton, Lucas was hoping to corner Haley so he could get some intel on Peyton's 'someone.' Because of her hectic teaching schedule, Lucas hadn't had a chance to talk to Haley that much in the past two days, but she had called him a day ago to tell him that Peyton was back in town. Of course, she'd had no clue that Lucas had already known since he hadn't told his best friend about his encounter with his ex on the Rivercourt. This was a chance for Lucas to do a little reconnaissance.

A few minutes later, Lucas pulled his Shelby into the spacious driveway of Nathan and Haley's estate and parked facing the attached three-car garage, near their Range Rover. Lucas noted the absence of other cars and was relieved that he'd made it ahead of the first arrivals. As he approached the front door, it opened to reveal his brother, clad in a light blue dress-shirt tucked into ash-grey dress pants.

It was good to see Nathan on his feet. After his accident eight months ago, things had gotten pretty dark for a while, but Nathan had eventually pulled out of it and managed to rehab his back enough to attract the attention of a minor-league team. It wasn't the NBA but it was a step in the right direction.

"Hey man," said Nathan.

"Hey."

"C'mon in."

Lucas followed his brother into the house and was immediately pounced on by his nephew. "Uncle Lucas!"

"J-Luke, what's going on?"

"Daddy's going to be in the NBA!" The little blond-haired ball of energy, clad in a miniature Ravens 23 jersey that was just a little too big for him, bounced like a spring and positively hummed with manic energy.

Lucas chuckled at his nephew. "Really? I hadn't heard."

"Easy, you little knucklehead," said Nathan. "I'm not there yet."

Jamie just grinned. "Yeah, but you will be. Right Uncle Lucas?"

Lucas ruffled the boy's hair. "No doubt."

"Anyway," Nathan said. "Don't you have homework you need to finish?"

Jamie deflated slightly. "Yeah…"

"Well, get going."

"Okay…" The boy scampered up the stairs.

"So I take it he's excited about this new gig of yours?"

Nathan laughed. "He's been on a permanent natural high since he found out."

"Well, I don't blame him. It's been a long time coming, little brother." They bumped fists.

"Thanks. And hey, thanks for helping me with rehab and everything else after my accident. I don't think I would've made it this far if it weren't for you."

Lucas was surprised by his brother's earnestness. "You'd have done the same thing for me, right?"

"Yeah, anytime." Nathan smiled then started nervously playing with the buttons on his shirt, which was classic Nathan for 'This-is-too-sappy-let's-change-the-subject.' "Anyway, I got to finish getting ready. Haley's in the kitchen."

"Okay, thanks."

As his brother trotted up the stairs, Lucas made his way to the kitchen where he found Haley at the counter, which was covered end-to-end with paper cups and plates. His best friend and sister-in-law had her back turned to him. Her chestnut-brown hair was tied into a pony-tail and she was wearing a flattering sleeveless royal blue dress.

"Hey Hales."

"Oh, hey Luke," she said, turning away from the pie she was ministering to on the stove. "You're early."

"Yeah, figured I'd hang out till the first guests arrived."

"Uh-huh." She turned away from the counter to look at him and her brow furrowed. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Why?"

"Because you've got that 'something's up' look on your face," Haley said.

Lucas sighed. She knew him too well. "Listen, umm, is Peyton going to be here tonight?"

Haley gave her own sigh. "Yeah, I invited her when I saw her the other day. Are we going to have a problem?"

"Not that I can see. I'm just curious if she's bringing anyone with her."

Haley's nose crinkled. "Yeah, I think Brooke will be with her. Why?"

Brooke? So she was back, too? Never mind, time enough for that later. "Well, the night before you called and told me Peyton was back, I saw her, at the Rivercourt. She said she was seeing someone."

Haley tilted her head back, her mouth forming into a silent 'ahhh.' "So that's why you're here. You're hoping I can give you some dirt on the guy she's with."

Lucas cringed. "Kind of."

"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but I didn't know she was dating anyone until you just told me," Haley said. "She didn't mention anything about it when I ran into her the other day, and the last time I even spoke to her before that was when Nathan was in the hospital, and she didn't say anything about it then, either. So sorry, I can't help you."

Lucas couldn't hide his disappointment. He'd at least wanted to get some sort of idea of what this guy was like. He wanted to know if he was treating her right, if he was good enough for Peyton, though deep down, he knew he'd have a problem with any guy Peyton ever dated that wasn't him.

He was slightly startled by Haley's hand on his. "Lucas, you're my best friend and I love you. You know that, right?"

He nodded.

"We're not in high school anymore. If Peyton is seeing someone and she's happy, you have to respect that. You owe it to her."

Haley's voice was gentle and caring but her words were hard. And they were right. Lucas did owe it to Peyton to take the high road. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her any more pain. Still, it hurt like a bitch to think of her laughing with, kissing, or making love to someone else.

"I know this must suck for you, Luke," said Haley. "But you chose to walk away from her. Now you have to step aside and let her be happy."

Lucas swallowed a lump of bitterness. "You know…before that night three years ago, I never walked away from anything that mattered. So why…why did I walk away from the one thing that mattered more to me than anything else in this life?"

Haley let out another sigh. "I don't know, Luke. That's something only you can figure out."

xxxxx

As light became dark and 8:00 loomed, Lucas's nerves turned his stomach sour. While Nathan and Haley went over last minute details, Lucas agreed to go upstairs and put Jamie to bed. He found the boy conked out on his little desk, an open workbook serving as a makeshift pillow. Either the homework had just been that boring or he'd finally crashed from his perpetual state of elation over his father's induction into the Chiefs.

Gently, Lucas lifted the boy from his desk and placed him onto his racecar-themed bed. Making sure his nephew was neatly tucked underneath the covers, Lucas switched off the light and quietly closed the door. He envied the little boy's ability to tune out the world so completely like that. Lucas wished he could.

He checked his watch for what had to have been the hundredth time in the last two minutes. 7:57. He sighed and headed downstairs. The doorbell chimed, signaling the arrival of the first guests. Half-wishing he had BS'd his way out of this engagement beforehand, Lucas blew out a breath. It was show time.

The first guests to arrive were Bobby Irons, the Chiefs' coach, and a few of Nathan's new teammates. Soon after, Skillz, Mouth, Junk, and Fergie joined the party and Lucas briefly caught up with each of them. Not long after, several of Nathan's friends and former teammates from the University of Maryland showed up, and by then, the house was thoroughly crowded and buzzing with mixed chatter.

Lucas, blue plastic up in hand, perched himself against the wall of the hallway that separated the stairway from the den and the kitchen. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the front door but could disappear from sight in an instant if he wanted to. Haley approached him.

"So, seeing as how this is a party and all, are you at any time planning to—I don't know—socialize?" Haley's sardonic tone wasn't quite sharp enough to cut, but Lucas could tell she was displeased by his reclusiveness.

"This is Nate's night," he said, gesturing towards the guy in question who was vigorously conversing with Coach Irons and several other Chiefs in a circle near the front door. "I don't want to steal his thunder."

Haley saw through his pathetic lie. "Bull. You're avoiding Peyton."

"She's not here yet. Maybe she's not even coming." Lucas hated that he actually felt somewhat relieved at the thought of Peyton not showing up, but he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that something bad was going to happen tonight.

Before Haley could reply, the sound of the front door opening drew both of their attention. Brooke Davis, sporting what was probably a Clothes Over Bro's exclusive satin red dress, sauntered into the Naley house like she owned it. Following behind her was a tall, lanky brown-haired man that Lucas didn't recognize. He tensed. Was this…?

But then Brooke took the guy's hand and held onto it in a blatantly intimate way. This was Brooke's date, not Peyton's.

"Well, well, well, is that Nathan Scott, newest point guard for the Charleston Chiefs?" Nathan laughed and excused himself from the group he'd been chatting with and walked over to the brunette. They shared a warm, friendly hug.

"Hi Brooke. It's good to see you," he said.

"You too. This," she said, gesturing to her date, "is Julian Baker, my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend, huh?" said Nathan. "Nice to meet you."

The two men shook hands. "The pleasure's all mine," said Julian. "I've heard a lot about you. Congratulations on everything, man."

Haley patted Lucas on the shoulder. "I'm going to go over and talk to Brooke. You can hide out here if you want."

Lucas grunted in response and watched his best friend as she strode over to where her husband and their old friend were. Brooke let out a high-pitched squeal that probably temporarily deafened half the people in the house when she caught sight of Haley and the two women embraced. Introductions with Julian were made and pretty soon they were catching up. Brooke rapid-fired questions about Jamie and Haley's new teaching gig while Julian and Nathan talked.

Lucas considered joining them but thought better of it. He hadn't seen or spoken to Brooke since he and Peyton had broken up. The brunette had stopped responding to his emails and had started ignoring his calls and he didn't have to be a genius to figure out why. Besides which, Lucas didn't want to give up his current position in view of the door.

Keeping an ear on the excited chatter between Brooke and his brother and best friend, Lucas continued his surveillance of the front door as guests milled about. He only then noticed that his heart was thudding in his chest and his palms felt damp. It was almost like being back in the locker room the night of his first game playing for the Ravens. God, this was torture. Why couldn't Peyton just—

Lucas nearly jumped when the door opened. And there she was.

Once again, she stole his breath. In a sleeveless lemon-colored dress that ended just above her knees, that would've looked ridiculous on any number of other people but seemed to suit her perfectly, with her dark-blonde hair flowing loose, Peyton Sawyer stepped into the scene. Leaning forward slightly, head adorably cocked, her large green eyes curiously scanned her surroundings, and then they landed on him. She straightened up abruptly but didn't look away.

"P. Sawyer, over here!" Her eyes left him and she answered her best friend's call with a thousand-watt smile. Lucas watched as the beautiful blonde rushed over to Brooke, Julian, Nathan, and Haley and embraced the latter two vigorously.

A figure appeared in the front doorway and Lucas tore his eyes away from Peyton, focusing on the newcomer. He was early-thirtyish and tall, maybe half-and-inch over Nathan, and broad-shouldered with blue eyes and neatly-arranged longish bleach-blond hair. Lucas noted his expensive apparel: black khakis, black suit-jacket over a white dress-shirt sans tie, all of which was probably designer wear, and a silver, diamond-encrusted Rolex on his right wrist. In his hands was a bottle of very fine looking champagne.

For a split-second, Lucas thought that maybe he was the Chiefs' owner, he certainly looked the part. But then he made his way over to Peyton, laid his Rolex-adorned meaty hand on her shoulder, and she greeted him with a smile and a kiss.

Bile rose in Lucas's throat and his stomach dropped. So this was Peyton's 'someone.'

Who the hell was this jerk-off? Didn't matter. None of his business.

Lucas watched as Peyton introduced her someone to Nathan and Haley but he couldn't hear what was being said over the blanket of noise that was shrouding the house. Mouth and Skillz eventually joined the group of six and soon it was like a party within a party. Everybody laughing, joking, jostling, as if Julian and the mystery-man had always been a part of their circle of friends. He couldn't make out what he was saying but Lucas could tell that Peyton's someone was a hell of a talker since he seemed to have everyone enthralled. And when he put an arm around Peyton and snuggled her up to his side, Lucas wanted to retch.

That should be _him_ with his arm around Peyton.

Remembering he had a drink in his left hand, Lucas brought the cup up to his lips and took a sip but the sweetened liquid tasted like ashes. Withdrawing into the hall, Lucas made his way to the kitchen and abandoned his drink on the counter. Skillz then sidled up beside him.

"Yo Luke, don't look now, but Peyton all up in this joint, and she looking fine."

Lucas snorted. "Thanks Skillz."

Apparently missing the sarcasm, the shorter man just nodded. "So you got a plan?"

"What are you talking about?"

Skillz looked at him like he was crazy. "To steal Peyton away from that dude."

_I wish_. "No, not really. If she's happy with this guy then so be it. I've got no right to interfere."

Skillz rolled his eyes. "Whatever. But anyway, if you change your mind, let me know. I got a foolproof plan guaranteed to work."

"Sure thing, Skillz."

Lucas patted his old friend on the back and then headed for the bathroom. After taking care of that, he maneuvered his way through a throng of people whose faces he didn't bother to try and place and escaped out onto the back patio. Taking in a deep, refreshing breath of fresh air, Lucas threw himself onto one of the wooden chairs facing the pool and sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

xxxxx

The soft click of the patio door drew Lucas's attention away from the game of Angry Birds on his iPhone. Light from the pool lamps illuminated the face of the water, casting liquid shadows on flowing lemon-colored fabric as the person he'd been trying to avoid but had been secretly spying on all night wandered over to the edge of the water without seeing him.

Exiting out of his game and pocketing his phone, Lucas quietly got up and approached the blonde. She started slightly and Lucas offered a silent apology with his hands. Peyton gave him a shy, half-smile then quickly turned away and glanced down at her high-heeled boots.

Lucas ached to touch her, to hold her, but he couldn't. He'd forfeited that right the moment he'd left her in that hotel room.

"This house is nice," Peyton said.

"Yeah, it really seems to fit Nathan and Haley."

"It does."

They were silent for awhile, and somehow, in spite of everything between them, it wasn't uncomfortable. It wasn't entirely comfortable, either, but it reminded him of how they used to be.

"You look beautiful, by the way," said Lucas.

"Thanks. You pretty good yourself."

When he saw the trace of color in her cheeks, he allowed himself a sparkle of hope. Did she still find him attractive? Did she yearn to touch him the way he did her? He searched her eyes for the answers but he all he saw was uncertainty and maybe something like pain.

A change of subject was desperately needed. Lucas wasn't ready to let this moment alone with her end just yet. "So how's your life, Peyton? I'm sure you're the top A&R rep at Sire Records by now. I hope all the world-famous acts you've signed remember to thank you in the liner notes."

Peyton laughed, and it was a genuine Peyton-laugh. Lucas's heart swelled at the sound.

"Not hardly," Peyton said. "Try former assistant-to-the-assistant of the label president, which is just a catchy term for pack-mule. It was pretty much like working in the mail room except I got this tiny little tinderbox of a desk and nose-bleed section seating at new music meetings."

"'Former?'"

"I quit my job a few days ago."

Lucas nodded. "I'm glad." She looked at him surprised. "I mean, not that it was so hard for you, but that you finally got away from that place. They weren't good enough for you."

Her eyes widened and Lucas saw gratitude. "Thank you, Lucas."

Her lips formed into yet another shy, semi-smile and she shifted her gaze back onto the pool. Another calm patch of silence descended on them before Peyton lightly elbowed him.

"So what about you? How many best-selling novels have you published?" Her tone was teasing.

"Umm, try none," he said. "The whole author-thing really didn't work out for me."

Her brow furrowed and her eyes radiated sympathy. "Luke, I'm sorry. What happened?"

He sighed. "Most publishing houses rejected my manuscript outright. The ones that didn't saw my name and realized that I was the son of the infamous 'Mayor Murder' and wanted to turn "Ravens" into a tell-all book about Dan and Keith's murder."

"Luke…" Her hand found his forearm and the touch sent sparks careening through him every which way. He was disappointed when it was gone.

"Anyway, I wasn't going to be a part of something like that so I threw "Ravens" into the trash, metaphorically speaking."

Peyton sighed. "God, I am so sorry, Luke. It's not fair to you. You put so much work and feeling into your novel…the world should've gotten to experience that and you deserve to be recognized for it."

The raw compassion in her voice and in her eyes, the fact that she was genuinely crushed _for_ him, made being here with her and not having her all the more unbearable. In that instant, Lucas realized what a fool he'd been for ever thinking she hadn't believed in him. Peyton had always believed in him, even now after three years of estrangement, after he'd broken her heart. He hated himself for throwing her love and support away.

"It doesn't matter," he said.

Peyton's eyes were firm. "It _does_ matter. You deserve to have your dream."

"I already gave it up." He wondered if she realized that he was no longer talking about his book. Peyton broke eye contact then, half-crossing her arms, half-cradling herself, which she did whenever she was nervous or uncomfortable. "Anyway, what's next for you?"

She looked up and he saw relief on her face at the change in direction. "Me? Well, Brooke offered me a freelance gig doing sketches and graphics for Clothes Over Bro's in New York, at least until I figure out what I really want to do. It'd be nice since Brooke is there and so is Dean…"

Dean. So that was the fucker's name. Lucas stifled the rising tide of bitterness as best he could. He wanted to know all about this 'Dean' guy but he wasn't about to ask Peyton. He really wouldn't be able to take listening to her gush about her new boyfriend. Though maybe they weren't that serious.

Either way, Lucas knew he had to seize this opportunity to tell her how he felt. "Listen, Peyton, there's something I need to tell you."

"Luke…" Her voice was a gentle warning.

"No, Peyton, I really need to say this." Before she could object, he took a deep breath and let loose: "I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry for walking out on you like that. I ask myself how I could've ever done something so callous and I don't have an answer. If I could go back and do it differently, I would in a heartbeat, but I can't and you need to know that—"

"Lucas, you need to stop." Her voice was firm and her hands were up defensively. "You can't be saying these things, not now. It's too late."

Hurt but undeterred, Lucas took a step forward. "I don't believe that Peyton. I just—"

"I love him."

Lucas froze and it was like someone had injected his veins with liquid nitrogen. He wanted to pretend he hadn't heard her right, but he most certainly had, and there could be no doubt as to who 'him' was. Peyton Sawyer was in love with someone else.

"I'm sorry, Lucas," said Peyton. "I just…I can't do this with you."

The sound of the patio door opening and closing and the click of heels on cobblestone drew their attention to Brooke, who was approaching them. Lucas finally realized his mouth was wide open and promptly closed it.

Brooke smiled warmly at Peyton. "Hey P. Sawyer, your boy's looking for you."

Peyton nodded at Brooke then turned back to him. Lucas searched her eyes for any sign, any hint that she hadn't meant what she said, but all he saw was hurt. "I…I'll see you, Luke." Lucas's gaze followed her until she disappeared inside the house.

The clack-clack of heels reminded him that he was not alone and he looked over at Brooke. Her eyes were poison and as she slowly stalked over to the spot Peyton had occupied only seconds before, Lucas knew this was not going to be a fun conversation, though at this point, nothing could make his mood any worse.

Brooke said nothing for about half a minute, then: "His name is Dean Francis. He's a former model and now the chief editor of a very successful men's fashion magazine in New York. I set him up with Peyton a little over a year ago. He makes her laugh, he treats her like a queen, and they're in love. Just in case you were curious."

Lucas had been curious, but now, not so much. "Brooke, I know you're mad about what happened between me and Peyton—"

"You mean what you _did_ to Peyton?" Her face was accusatory, one eyebrow sharply cocked. "You broke her heart, Lucas. You shattered her world into a billion pieces and stomped all over her spirit. You have no idea how bad it got, how I had to scrape her off the floor because she'd forgotten how to _breathe _without you. So I'm way past the point of being mad, Lucas. I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive you for what you did to her."

Lucas jammed his eyes closed and took in a deep breath. Shaking his head, he tried to plead with Brooke: "I'm sorry, okay? I wish I could undo it."

"But you _can't_! And that's something you have to deal with. So don't you dare even think of trying to get in between her and Dean." Brooke's voice was low, deadly. With one last glare, she turned and started to walk away.

"Brooke…" It came out hoarsely. "You look good, by the way. It's nice to see you after so long." And he meant that. Any romantic notions he'd ever once had for his high school girlfriend were ancient history, but he still valued the brunette's friendship and he hated that he'd lost it.

"Save it. We are not friends, Lucas Scott, and you and Peyton are not anything. So stay away from her and Dean, and stay away from me."

"Brooke…"

"No! Peyton and I will be in town for the next few weeks. If you see Peyton in the street, whether she's alone or with Dean, you walk the other way." And with that, she turned her back on him and re-entered the house, the patio door slamming closed with finality behind her.

Lucas stood there alone on the patio for a few minutes afterwards, staring at nothing in particular. He marveled at how this night had so rapidly deteriorated into one of the worst in his life.

And he dreaded how much worse things could get before morning.

xxxxx

11:00 came and went, and so did Coach Irons and much of the party. By 11:15, everyone except for immediate friends and family had left, though Lucas could hardly count Brooke, Peyton, or their boyfriends in that latter category. Lucas himself wanted nothing else then to get the hell out of there, but he didn't want to let on that anything was wrong and face the inevitable questions from Nathan and Haley.

So when everyone adjourned to the living room, Lucas reluctantly followed and sequestered himself on the periphery, as far away from Peyton and Dean as he could. As the group socialized, Lucas remained a silent observer, throwing the occasional one-word response to a question from his brother and best friend and making some small talk with Skillz and Mouth. Mostly, he tried to catch Peyton's eyes but she took great pains to avoid looking at him, so he contented himself with surreptitiously peering at her bare legs. It was basically freshman- and sophomore-year of high school all over again.

A couple of times, Brooke caught on to what he was doing and flattened him with a glacial stare and Lucas would rapidly pretend the coffee table was the most fascinating thing in the world. Overall, though, he desperately wanted this gathering to come to an end.

And much as he hated to admit it, Dean Francis seemed like a genuinely nice guy. Peyton had not even attempted to introduce the two of them, but Lucas could see he really cared for her. A part of him was thrilled that she'd found someone that loved and adored her but seeing her with this guy still felt like an ice-pick in his windpipe.

Lucas also found Julian to be a really likeable, down-to-earth guy with a goofy sense of humor. Apparently, he was an Indie film producer but he certainly didn't fit the stereotype. He and Brooke had a natural chemistry and synergy and Lucas predicted these two would be married soon. It looked like Brooke had finally found the guy for her, and although the brunette would've liked nothing more than to see his guts splattered on the pavement, he was still glad for her.

Lucas's nerves had had enough for the night, and he was about to stand up and excuse himself when Dean suddenly got up from his seat.

"How about a round of expensive champagne to toast the start of Nathan's journey to success?" he said.

"That's what I'm talking about," said Skillz.

"Why not?" Mouth said.

Nathan shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Hales?"

"Okay, one last round."

Dean clapped his hands. "Terrific! I left the bottle on the counter. Haley, where do you keep your glassware?"

"There should be a bunch of them out by the sink," Haley said.

Lucas winced when Dean kissed Peyton before hurrying off to get his bottle of champagne. Yeah, it was definitely time to go. He stood up. "I think I'm going to cut out, guys."

"Oh Luke, can't you just stay a few more minutes?" Haley's voice was pleading.

"Yeah man," Nathan said. "I wouldn't want to make this toast without you."

"C'mon, Luke," said Skillz. "It's free alcohol."

Lucas looked at Peyton but she was staring at her lap. Would she want him to stay? Probably not, so he shook his head. "I don't think so…"

"Stay, Lucas." He looked over at Brooke, surprised. "Trust me, you're not going to want to miss this."

Her features were marred by a vicious little smile. What the hell? Why did Brooke want him around all the sudden? Even though the front door was calling like a siren, Lucas let himself sink back down into his seat. Just as he did, Dean returned with the bottle of champagne and several glasses.

Placing the bottle onto the coffee table, he then proceeded to make the rounds with the glasses, making sure every one of them had one. Almost everyone.

"Umm, hello?" Peyton waved at Dean, obviously perplexed. "Am I supposed to just take a swig straight from the bottle?"

Dean turned towards her. "Oh, sorry! Let me get you one." He sashayed off and Peyton stared after him, a 'What the hell?' look on her face. A few seconds later, he returned with a glass for his girlfriend. "Here, sorry."

Peyton accepted the glass, but as she brought it towards her, she stopped suddenly. "What is this?"

"What's what?" asked Haley.

"There's something at the bottom of the glass." As she reached into fish out whatever was in the glass, Lucas suddenly felt sick. This whole charade looked like—

Peyton's gasp drew everyone's attention. "Dean…" In her hand was a small object, a very pricey looking object.

Lucas's blood ran cold. No…this could _not _be happening.

Peyton looked at her boyfriend in shock. "Dean, what is this?"

"I believe that's an engagement ring, and I'm pretty sure it belongs on your finger," he said. "Will you marry me, Peyton Sawyer?"

Silence. It was a stale expression, but you really could hear a pin drop. No one said anything, no one moved, everyone just gawked at Peyton and Dean, as stone-still as gargoyles. Lucas felt his sanity slip. This wasn't really happening, it was ridiculous. _Here_? _**Now**_?

As Peyton's wide eyes oscillated from the ring to Dean and then back again, Lucas's bored his own eyes into her. _No-no-no-no-no-no-no! Don't do it!_ He tried to burn these words directly into her mind. Just then, her eyes met his, and the ring, Dean, and everything else faded away. _This can't be the end of us, Peyton. This isn't how our story ends. Don't marry him, please…I love you, I always have and I always will_.

Peyton's eyes deserted his and refocused on the ring. And then they centered on Dean, who had an excited grin on his face, as if the smug bastard couldn't even conceive of the fact that she might not accept his proposal.

Because she did.

**~Chapter One End**


	2. The Longest Day

**A/N: **Here's chapter two, sorry for the delay.**  
**

* * *

**SAVE A PLACE**

**2. The Longest Day**

Shards of glass sprinkled with blood. That was the site that greeted Lucas in the bathroom first thing in the morning. His head pounded and the right side of his face burned white-hot, but he couldn't see why since the mirror above the sink had been shattered. Jagged pieces of speculum cluttered the sink and littered the floor surrounding it, several of which sported blots of red.

Examining the troubled area of his face, Lucas winced at the searing shock his probing fingers produced and quickly withdrew. Blood smeared the pads of his index, middle, and ring. Lucas's gaze ping-ponged from his bloody digits to the broken mirror, baffled as to how the hell this had happened. Obviously, he must have done it at some point but he didn't remember when. He'd been drunk all week so his recollection was shot.

Sighing, his throbbing temple screeching with indignation, Lucas cautiously navigated his way through the glittering fragments and opened the now mirror-less medicine cabinet. Extracting a bottle of Neosporin and some band-aids, he dragged his leaden limbs back to his bedroom, kicking a few empty beer bottles out of the way as he made his way over to the closet. In the (thankfully intact) mirror on the inside of his closet door, Lucas was shocked at the sight of himself. There were multiple contusions on the right side of his face, which was practically caked in both fresh and dried blood. There was also a sizeable gash on his upper lip.

Lucas swiveled around. The pillow and the rumpled sheets on his bed were practically saturated in red. Shit. Shaking his head, Lucas let out a long sigh which provoked a sudden angry bolt of pain from his lip wound, and stared at the stranger in the mirror before him. It was then that his eyes were drawn to a dark-blue box resting on the uppermost shelf of the closet.

The Peyton Box.

"_Dean, what is this?"_

"_I believe that's an engagement ring and I'm pretty sure it belongs on your finger," he said. "Will you marry me, Peyton Sawyer?"_

"_Yes…"_

Lucas's eyes shut tightly. That had really happened.

He promptly shut the closet door and surveyed his room: a blood-soaked bed and bottles everywhere. He noticed one that was jaggedly truncated at the neck and with what appeared to be more of his blood spotted in and around the broken edges. The reason for his sliced lip, no doubt. Jesus.

He really hoped no one he knew had been by here this past week. Lucas had made it pretty clear that he'd wanted to be left alone since the party last Friday, and it looks like his wishes had been respected, otherwise he'd be catching hell right now. He _was_ going to catch hell the moment Haley saw his cut up face. Better start getting himself together.

One extremely uncomfortable shower and cringe-inducing session with a pair of tweezers and the Neosporin later, Lucas's face was bandaged and he was in a fresh set of clothes. He'd had to use liquid band-aid for his lip and the only thing he had to wear were faded jeans and a white-t, but he was in better shape than he'd been in when he'd woken up. Slightly.

For the next hour, Lucas cleaned house. His sheets and pillow-case needed changing and the used alcohol-containers needed to be cleaned up. The mess in the bathroom had to be taken care of, too. Once that was all done, the place looked half-way decent.

Lucas still felt like shit, though. He also hadn't realized how early it still was, only seven-thirty in the morning. He thought about going for a run or maybe shooting a round at the Rivercourt, but his head was still killing him and his stomach burned from all the abuse it had taken at the hands of the alcohol. At this moment, Lucas was officially terminating his relationship with booze. It had not fulfilled its end of the bargain: it was supposed to make him feel better; instead it only made him feel worse.

It was a damn good thing he didn't work a standard nine-to-five, otherwise he would've been fired ten times over by now. After getting his A.A. from Gilmore College, Lucas hadn't bothered to move on to a four-year university like Nathan and Haley had. Instead, he'd taken up a gig as a proofreader and copyeditor for New Gothic Press, an ebook publishing company his creative writing professor had started. Since everything was online, Lucas could essentially do his work from anywhere and on his own schedule, so long as he met deadlines. NGP wasn't exactly a big-name publisher, but it had come to enjoy enough success to provide steady incomes to everyone who worked for it.

Unfortunately, his week-long bender had no doubt left him with a mountain of manuscripts that needed his attention. His iPhone was practically bursting with missed calls and unheard voicemails, several of which were NGP business but most of which were from concerned friends and family. Lucas immediately called his mother and reassured that yes, everything was fine, no, he didn't need anything, and of course he promised to keep in touch.

Apparently, Haley had told his mother about everything that had happened and she was worried. Lucas was pretty worried, too, but there was nothing his mother could do to help him, so he'd set her mind at ease as best he could and convinced her that it was something he had to deal with on his own. After hanging up with his mother, Lucas sent a text to NGP apologizing for dropping off the radar and promising to catch up on his work.

Finally, it was time to go out and make the rounds. Slipping into a brown corduroy jacket, Lucas grabbed his keys and stepped out into the fresh air for what felt like the first time in months. Lucas was relieved to find his Shelby where it was supposed to be. The metallic-red mustang looked like it hadn't moved in days which meant Lucas had had enough sense not to drive anywhere while he'd been hammered.

As he climbed behind the wheel and brought the diesel engine to life, he peered at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror. They were gray, devoid of any hope.

It was going to be a long day, and an even longer life.

xxxxx

"What the hell happened to your face?"

Haley's shriek might've woken up the whole house had anyone besides them been there. Nathan and Jamie were at the Rivercourt, killing time before the former had to go to practice and the latter, preschool. Still, Lucas wondered if the neighbors would start calling.

"Well? Still here!"

"Hales, it's not a big deal," Lucas said. "It was…and accident."

He grimaced as his fingers glided over the band-aids. Just a stupid gaff. He didn't see why Haley was making a big deal out of it.

"What kind of accident?"

"Uhhh, the kind I don't remember."

Haley's laugh was not good-natured. "Great! Of course!"

"Hales…"

"Lucas!" She yanked a fork out of the sink, dropped it into the open drawer to her left, and slammed it closed with attitude. Shutting her eyes, head tilted back, his best friend seemed to be struggling to calm herself. A few seconds later, her eyes opened and she turned back to him, hands on her hips. "This has to stop." Her voice was calm, eerily so.

"I know that, Hales," Lucas said. "I dumped all the alcohol. It's safe to say I'm threw with drinking for awhile, maybe forever."

"That's not what I'm talking about, but now that you mention it, yes, I have been worried sick about how much you've been drinking. We all left you alone because you asked us to, but clearly, that was a mistake." Haley sighed. "But that's not what I meant."

Lucas squinted. "What did you mean, then?"

Another sigh. Haley propped her elbows on the counter that stood between them, and leveled her severe gaze directly on him. "Luke, you know I was rooting for you and Peyton."

Lucas shook his head and turned on his heal. So had he, but it hadn't done any good, had it?

"Luke! You know I hoped you two would work it out, a lot of us did." Lucas shut his eyes tightly. He didn't want to hear this. Haley's hand on his shoulder startled him. "Lucas, look at me." Reluctantly, he did so. "After you came back from LA three years ago and told me what happened, I came down on you pretty hard because I knew you'd made a big mistake that was going to hurt you and Peyton. I kept hoping that maybe you'd come to your senses and rush back to California and make things right with Peyton, but you never did, and every time I or anyone else tried to talk to you about it, you shut down."

Lucas said nothing. He didn't know what _to_ say.

Unabated, Haley continued: "But now Peyton has moved on, she's fallen in love with someone else and she's getting married tomorrow, so you have to—"

"Wait, tomorrow?"

Haley blew out a breath. "Yeah, Luke, tomorrow. Around noon. You said you wanted to be left alone, so nobody had a chance to tell you."

"You could've called!" Lucas didn't mean to raise his voice, but he was distraught. Peyton was getting married tomorrow?

"I tried but you never answered your phone!" She was indignant, and Lucas felt an apology form on his lips, but Haley was having none of it. "I gave you space out of respect, because I'm your best friend! Sorry I bothered!"

Lucas heard tears in her words and caught the faintest glistening of moisture in her eyes. His insides crumbled. He had _not_ come over here to make his best friend cry, but no matter what he did, he couldn't seem to stop hurting the people he cared about.

"Hales, I'm sorry." He rushed over to her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Hey, I'm sorry, okay? It's not your fault." She nodded and he was grateful that no tears escaped.

Lucas let out the breath he'd been holding in. "It just caught me off-guard, you know?"

"I know, Luke, and I'm sorry you had to find out this way." Haley stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest, and looked at him gravely. "But…this person you're becoming, it's not you. I've watched you these last three years, wandering around lost, holding onto something that isn't there anymore, and I just wish the old Lucas would return."

Lucas swallowed hard. "Hales, I'm still the same person I've always been, and I'm not lost, I—"

"No, you're not!" Haley seemed taken aback by her own outburst. Nevertheless, she pressed on. "All you've done is work or bum around Tree Hill. You haven't been on a single date, you haven't even tried to meet anyone, since you and Peyton ended! You just hole yourself up in your house and—"

"What are you talking about?" Now Lucas was the one who was indignant. What right did she have to judge his lifestyle? "It's not like I've been a hermit. Are you forgetting the fact that I spent months on the Rivercourt helping your husband rehab his back?"

"No, Luke, I haven't forgotten," Haley said, taking a few steps toward him. "I will always be grateful to you for what you did for Nathan, and so will he, but when are you going start rehabbing yourself? I know how hard it must be for you seeing Peyton engaged to someone else, but—"

She was cut off by a bitter laugh from Lucas. "You don't know anything, Haley. Even when you and Nathan were separated, you never had to bear the thought of him with someone else. No, actually, it was Nathan who had to see you with Chris Keller. Maybe I should go talk to _him_ about this, he'd understand."

The hurt that clouded his best friend's face was like a cheese-grater being dragged across his already lacerated heart. Lucas wanted to unsay everything he'd just said, but it was too late. "Oh God, Haley, I'm so sorry. That wasn't fair and I didn't mean it. I shouldn't have thrown that in your face."

Haley just stared at him. "No, you shouldn't have." Her voice was horse and cracked. "And I think you just proved my point. You are not the Lucas Scott I know and love."

It was true. He wished it weren't, but it was. "Yeah, you're right, I'm not. I should go."

Lucas headed for the door quickly. He needed to leave before he said or did something else hurtful. Haley sighed and called out to him: "Lucas, wait. I'm sorry, don't go."

He stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Just stay awhile, okay? Have you eaten yet? You look like you've lost weight. I'll make you something to eat and we can talk for awhile." Her voice was pleading and Lucas was tempted to give in.

Instead, he said: "You have a class to teach, don't you? Better get going."

Without waiting for a reply, Lucas shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and slunk out of the house.

xxxxx

Lucas decided that he needed a haircut. His dirty-blond locks had grown unruly and he'd feel better if they were trimmed. Unfortunately, the place he usually went to had gone out of business. He could've easily driven out of town and up to Wilmington to find a barber shop, but instead, Lucas decided to troll the hair salons in town until he found one that offered men's cuts and accepted drop-ins.

He finally located one on Market Street. Needless to say, his scarred lip and bandaged cheek earned him more than a few stares from the mostly female staff and patrons. The woman that cut his hair, as frigid and as thin as a Popsicle, said nothing and only uttered the occasional brusque command to close his eyes and tilt his head forward as she worked on him. Lucas stared straight ahead, his nostrils burning from the miasma of hair-product fumes and his ears ringing from the cacophony of blow-dryers, electric trimmers, and chatter.

Lucas was glad to be out of there once he was done and swore never to return. As he pushed his way through the glass door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, he didn't expect to see Peyton walking up from his left.

She stopped and practically gaped at him and Lucas felt his heart palpitate. She had on her usual high-heeled boots and skinny jeans, and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Her dark-blonde waves flowed loosely and freely and it hurt not to be able to walk over and run his hand through them.

As he and Peyton took each other in, Lucas saw her brow furrow. "Lucas? What happened?"

He knew she was referring to his bandaged face and cut lip. Her voice was soft and bursting with concern and it filled Lucas with warmth. "It's a long story."

As she approached him hurriedly, her hand rose and for an instant, Lucas thought she might caress his wounded cheek. Disappointment gnashed at him when she withdrew it back to her side, and readjusted her purse-strap nervously. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not, but the cuts will heal."

Silence drooped between them. There were so many things Lucas wanted to say but couldn't. If he told her not to marry Dean, would she listen? If he said 'I love you,' would she say it back? The answer was probably 'no' on both counts, but Lucas couldn't help but wonder if he should at least try or keep his mouth shut.

"Anyway…" Peyton cleared her throat. "What are you doing here?"

"Haircut," he said, pointing to his newly trimmed locks. "You?"

"I'm supposed to meet Brooke. We're going to get our hair done together since the wedding is…"

"Tomorrow," Lucas said. He hated even saying it. "Tomorrow's the big day, huh?"

"Yeah…" She was almost whispering and Lucas was afraid to read anything into that. "Lucas, I'm sorry for what happened at the party. I had no idea Dean was going to propose like that."

_Well, at least you actually said yes instead of someday_, Lucas thought bitterly, then immediately felt guilty. Peyton hadn't said 'no' three years ago when he'd proposed to her, he knew that now, but God it had been excruciating to watch her say yes to another man. Didn't she realize that?

Instead, he said: "Look Peyton, you don't have to apologize, okay?"

"No, I do! I mean, after what we were, what we had, I know how hard it must've been on you," she said, and the compassion in her voice was almost too much for him to bear.

"I know you do, Peyton. I mean, you put your feelings for me aside when I was trying to get back with Brooke in high school, so I owe it to you to return the favor." Lucas wasn't sure if he meant that. He hoped he did, for both their sakes.

Peyton took in a breath. "That seems like another lifetime ago."

"It was," Lucas said. "But I guess it had to end sometime, right?"

Peyton didn't reply. Her eyes were uncertain and he could tell she didn't know how to respond. Instead, she said: "I haven't seen you around lately."

"That's because I haven't been around." She winced slightly and he realized that had come out harsher than intended. "Actually, back at the party, Brooke warned me to stay away from you."

Peyton snorted, rolling her eyes. "Oh God, I'm sorry Lucas, she's just been really protective of me, ever since…"

Ever since he'd abandoned her in a hotel room. It was there, between them, still unspoken and now that she was getting married and forging a new life with a new guy, it would probably forever remain that way. "I'm glad. Brooke's a great friend."

"Yeah, she is, but I'll get her to back off."

Lucas looked down. Not for the first time, he was amazed at this woman's grace. As bitter as he was about the current situation, Lucas couldn't deny that he was touched by her concern for him. He didn't deserve it, not after the way he'd treated her.

Her next words suddenly made him doubt all of that. "Will you be there?"

Lucas was stunned. "What?"

"The wedding," Peyton said. "Will you come?"

She couldn't be serious. "Peyton…I…"

"It's just…" She gesticulated with her hands, struggling to verbalize her thoughts. "I need everyone I care about to be there, you know? And I still care about you Lucas, so I need you there. I don't think I'll be able to go through with it without you."

Lucas's head swam. What-what-what the hell was this? Her eyes told him that even she wasn't sure why she was saying this. She still _cared_ about him? What did that _mean_?

She was looking at him expectantly and he finally found his voice again: "Peyton, I don't know…"

"Please? I know it's really selfish of me to ask but it would mean a lot to me."

He swallowed. What the hell was he supposed to do? He wanted to shout at her for even asking him something like this. How dare she? But then he also wanted to take her in his arms, hug her to his chest, kiss the top of her head, and tell her everything was going to be alright. She looked so fragile and vulnerable it was killing him.

"Peyton!"

Saved by the Brooke.

xxxxx

From the corner of her eye, Peyton could see her best friend approaching, but her gaze remained locked on the man before her. His crystal blue eyes, once so full of vitality and quiet strength, the very eyes that had peeled away her layers and become a permanent image in her head, were glossy and lifeless. He looked painfully thin, pale, and the bandages on his face were outlined by angry-red flesh. What on earth had he done to himself?

Lucas Scott looked lost and miserable and it made Peyton die a little on the inside. This was her fault. Even worse, she knew exactly how he felt, because she'd felt just like that after she'd woken up in that hotel room to find him gone. And she'd gone on to feel that misery for years, and nothing, not work, not music, not the people around her, had been able to fill the hole he'd left in her.

Until Dean, that was, but there were times Peyton couldn't tell whether he filled it or simply covered it up. Either way, she would never wish that pain on anyone, least of all Lucas, and she'd do almost anything to take it away.

But Peyton was so confused. Lucas hadn't called her: hadn't sent so much as an email or a text message since they'd broken up, not on her birthday, or on holidays, or even on the anniversary of her mom's death. It was Brooke who'd contacted her and told her about Nathan being in the hospital, because Haley had called the brunette. Not a word from Lucas about it.

Excruciating as it had been to accept, Peyton had come to the conclusion then that Lucas no longer loved her. Worse, maybe he hadn't loved her as much as he'd claimed, otherwise, why hadn't he waited? Moving on had seemed impossible, but then Brooke had brought Dean into her life, and he'd been so charming and funny and kind, it had helped distract Peyton from her crushing heartbreak.

But now everything was different. Peyton had been flabbergasted when Lucas had approached her at Nathan's party a week ago and she'd seen something in him she never would've thought possible again: yearning, want, love, _for her_. Somehow, she'd been wrong and Lucas had never stopped loving her.

But it was too late. Dean was a wonderful guy and didn't deserve to be collateral damage in the storm that was her and Lucas. So she'd pushed Lucas away, and then Dean proposed to her, and everything just got crazy from there.

And now Peyton had just begged Lucas to come to her wedding. Why? She had no idea. Peyton had no clue why she'd talked Dean into marrying her so soon, or why she'd insisted on it being in Tree Hill, or why she absolutely had to have Lucas there, but she did.

"Peyton?" Brooke's concerned voice broke her reverie. She realized Lucas was no longer standing in front of her. The snarl of a diesel engine caused both women to turn just in time to catch Lucas's mustang dart past them. Brooke turned back to her. "What's going on? What did he say to you?"

Hearing the edge in her best friend's voice, Peyton was quick to defend Lucas. "Brooke, it's okay, he didn't do anything. And you need to take it easy on him, okay? He's in a lot of pain right now."

"Yeah, well that's his own fault," Brooke said.

"Brooke!" Peyton's voice was louder and firmer than she intended, but she couldn't help it. "He's hurting. We've both experienced heartbreak before, we both know what it feels like. So just cut him a break, okay? For me?"

"I just don't want him to hurt you again, Peyton." Brooke's face radiated concern and Peyton warmed at her best friend's protectiveness.

"Brooke, honey, I love you for looking out for me," Peyton said, placing her hands on Brooke's shoulders. "But I don't need you to protect me from Lucas, okay? I just need you to be my best friend."

Brooke frowned but seemed to accept that. "Okay." The brunette looked briefly in the direction Lucas had driven off in then turned back to Peyton. "So how bad is he, anyway?"

Peyton sighed and shook her head. "I don't know, but he looks hung-over and like he hasn't eaten in days. And his face was all cut up. I'm really worried, Brooke. I'm thinking about calling Haley but I'm pretty sure she's teaching right now, and I know Nathan's at practice. I wonder if—"

"Okay," Brooke said, grasping Peyton's hands to get her to stop rambling. "One thing at a time, okay? First, what were you two talking about?"

Peyton hesitated. "I invited him to the wedding."

"You what?" The brunette's shout had garnered the attention of a few passersby and Peyton signaled her to calm down. "Why would you do that, Peyton?"

"I don't know, okay?" And that was the truth, Peyton didn't know. "I just…I need him to be there. I can't explain why, but I just do."

There was no disguising the naked concern on the brunette's face. "Peyton, I'm really worried now. What's this about?"

"I don't know." It was getting to be her default response, Peyton realized. She knew Brooke would never be satisfied with that, and quite frankly, neither was she. But Peyton had no answers to give her best friend, or herself.

Letting out a breath, Brooke closed her eyes for a second and forced a conciliatory smile on her face. "Alright, let's just get our hair done then we can deal with this. I promised to spend the afternoon with Julian, but later on we can talk about this, okay?"

Peyton sniffed when she felt her nostrils burn and struggled to keep tears from escaping. "Thanks Brooke. I don't how I'd be able to handle all this without you."

The brunette's smile was genuine this time. "You won't ever have to."

xxxxx

The longest days were the days before you had to face something that terrified you or do something you knew would be one of the hardest things you've ever had to do. Lucas had had many in his life. The day before his first game as a Raven; the day before Keith's funeral; the day before Jimmy Edward's funeral; and the day before Peyton had to leave for her internship in Los Angeles.

And then there was today, the day before Peyton got married. Lucas both dreaded the wedding and the thought of having to let the girl of his dreams go forever. Thus, on this day, time seemed trapped in a permanent crawl. He spent the lunch hours catching up on work, got restless, crawled up and down the walls of his house, did more work, got restless again, and then tried to eat something. All his sour stomach would tolerate were some crackers, and by the time he had finished his snack, 1:00 had rolled around and Lucas wanted to tear his freshly cut hair out.

He couldn't stand being cooped up in his tiny little bungalow anymore, so he grabbed his basketball and set out for the Rivercourt. With only a few clouds to inhibit it, the sun shined mostly unopposed, its rays reflecting off the waters of the Cape Fear River and producing a sparkling glare that could transfix the weary. One thing Lucas hated more than anything was being unable to appreciate a nice day. He tried to play a serious game of man vs. basket but his body was sluggish and slow to respond. After missing what had to be his twentieth shot, Lucas picked up the ball from where it had wandered into the grass and plopped down on the metal bleachers.

Haley had been dead-on in everything she'd said this morning. Lucas was not the person he'd used to be; he hadn't been since he'd made the worst mistake of his life three years ago. Peyton was getting married tomorrow. She was moving on and he knew he would have to as well. It just didn't seem real. He'd never pictured spending his life with, having kids with, growing old with anyone other than Peyton, and the thought that he would probably now have to made him not want to do any of those things.

Worse, she'd asked him to be there to watch her walk down the aisle and say 'I do' to her fiancée, soon-to-be-husband. Lucas really couldn't picture himself doing that, either. He honestly didn't know what Peyton was thinking asking him to be there. It wasn't spite: Peyton would never do something so malicious. Was it pity?

It didn't matter. There were a million ways he could choose to interpret the encounter at the hair salon but it solved nothing. Lucas seriously wondered if he was becoming obsessed. Never in his life had he felt so off-balance, so hopeless. He wanted to get away from it all.

The whisper of rubber on soil drew his attention to a BMW SUV pulling up on the grass that surrounded the blacktop. The driver's door opened and out stepped Brooke Davis, purse on her shoulder and expensive heals unconcerned with the unkempt sod beneath them.

_Uh-oh_. Clearly, she was here to chew Lucas out for talking to Peyton.

Surprisingly, there was no hostility in the brunette's gait. She calmly approached him and took a seat right beside him, her Louis Vuitton purse coming to rest on the metal bleachers with a soft thud.

"Look, I ran into Peyton by accident this morning, I wasn't out looking for her or anything," Lucas said.

"I know, and I'm not here to yell at you." Brooke's tone was tranquil, miles away from the venom and contempt it had contained the last time they'd spoken. She looked him in the eye. "Look, I'm really sorry for the way I acted at the party. I've been so pissed at you for so long that I just couldn't stop myself from unloading on you. It wasn't fair and I'm sorry."

Trying to shake off his surprise, Lucas just shook his head. "It's okay, Brooke, I had it coming. Nothing you said to me that night was any worse than what I've been saying to myself."

The brunette sighed. "Lucas, I'm sorry that you're hurting but Peyton is my best friend and I'll protect her with my life. I just want her to be happy, and deep down, I know you do, too. She's happy with Dean, so I hope you can try to be happy for her. You've got to let her go."

Lucas stared at nothing. "I know, Brooke, but it's hard. And now she wants me to come to the wedding…"

"Yeah, about that," said Brooke. "I don't know what the hell that girl was thinking inviting you to the wedding. I think seeing you and being in this town again after so long is just really confusing for her. Don't feel obligated to show up. I'm sure she'll understand if you can't."

"I'll think about it," was all he could say.

He saw the brunette nod silently. For awhile, they gazed out at the town that was so ingrained into their pasts. Brooke's hand on his shoulder startled him slightly but he relaxed. "I'm sorry I hurt her, Brooke."

"You hurt me, too," Brooke said gravely. "I once told Peyton that you always make the right decision, so doing what you did pretty much turned me into a liar. Back in high school, even though it hurt like hell when we broke up, I was able to get past it because I knew you and Peyton had something so special and so rare, and that my best friend had somebody like you to love her. It gave me closure because I realized I never had a chance of getting in the way of what the two of you had, and no matter what I could've done differently, you and I would never have made it. So you throwing away your relationship with Peyton because she wouldn't marry you right away was like a slap in the face; it made me think you broke my heart for someone you weren't willing to wait a year for."

Lucas couldn't look at her, he was so ashamed.

"That's part of why I was so furious," Brooke said. "Can you understand that?"

He nodded painfully. "Yeah…" His voice was choked, raspy. "I do now. I didn't at the time." Lucas _did_ understand now. His selfish actions had affected more than just Peyton and himself. 'I'm sorry' just didn't seem adequate.

His eyes turned to Brooke. "I know I've said this before, but I wish I could take it back."

"You can't go backwards, Luke, you can only go forward."

But forward to _what_?

xxxxx

In the meantime, the day moved forward into night and twilight descended on the small town. The fading sun made its last stand for the day, and its final strands of flamey-orange licked the dirty-silver bridge that overlooked the town's primary drainage culvert. Crouched on the mossy, crumbling concrete a few steps away from the culvert's bottom and a few inches near the makeshift awning created by the bridge, knees to her chest, Peyton looked up at the ramshackle houses that lined the edge of the channel.

She hadn't visited this place in years. This had always been her and Brooke's secret spot, though truthfully, it had been Peyton's first; Brooke had simply been the only one to know to look here when Peyton was truly troubled.

As if on cue, the sound of scrabbling and the crunch of grass and dry dirt heralded the arrival of her best friend, who was doggedly making her down the side of the ditch. As the brunette finally reached Peyton's position, she sighed.

"You know, it's a good thing I had my converse in the car because my heels never would've survived the descent," said Brooke.

Peyton laughed lightly as Brooke sat down beside her. Subconsciously, Peyton had expected Brooke to find her here and she was glad the brunette hadn't forgotten this place. Brooke smiled at her and stretched her arm around Peyton. The blonde settled into her best friend's embrace.

"So," Brooke said. "You want to talk about it?"

After a few seconds, Peyton sucked in a breath and asked her friend something she hadn't dared vocalize till now: "Brooke, do you think I'm making the right decision?"

Brooke looked at her. "What?"

"Marrying Dean," Peyton said. "Do you think it's the right thing to do?"

The brunette's eyes widened. "Wow, buddy, I don't—I wish I could answer that for you, but I can't. That's something only you can figure out."

Peyton said nothing and looked away.

"Where did that come from, anyway? I thought you and Dean were happy. I thought you wanted this," said Brooke.

"We are happy," Peyton said. "It's just…it doesn't _feel_ like the day before my wedding, you know? I mean, I always pictured it as being this day where I'd be so hyper and so excited and I wouldn't be able to sit still, just _anticipating_ the wedding, you know? And me and you and Haley would be running around taking care of last-minute details, and it would just be this fun, chaotic day."

Brooke smiled but didn't interrupt, realizing Peyton had more to say.

"But it's not like that. I don't feel anything other than nerves, and it just…it wasn't how I thought it would be."

Brooke frowned. "I'm sorry Peyton, but a lot of things in life are like that."

"I know that, but everything just seems to be moving so fast."

"Well of course, honey, you're the one that wanted to get married right away," Brooke said. "You were practically ready to drag Dean to the steps of City Hall until we convinced you to wait a week. I didn't even have time to make you a wedding dress."

Peyton though she detected a trace of hurt in that last sentence. She blew out a breath and turned away from Brooke, focusing her gaze on the other side of the culvert. Peyton honestly didn't know why she'd been so frantic to get married. Maybe because the longer she waited, the harder it would be to go through with it, but that couldn't be. She loved Dean, he was a great guy.

And yet…

She felt Brooke tense and heard her take a deep breath. Peyton immediately knew a hardball question was coming her way.

"Peyton, I'm going to ask you something and I really need you to seriously think about it carefully before you answer; I mean you have to be completely and totally honest with me and with yourself, for your own sake. Okay?" Brooke's tone was severe and her face was resolute. Peyton couldn't have lied to her even if she'd wanted to.

Warily, the blonde nodded.

"Okay." Brooke took a few seconds to gather herself before she finally spoke:

"Are you still in love with Lucas?"

Peyton's heart pounded. The thought of what might come out of her mouth terrified her.

**~Chapter Two End**


	3. Goodbye

**A/N: **Sorry for the wait. Also, this chapter isn't nearly as long as the past two chapters, and I apologize for that, but the narrative called for this chapter to be shorter. The next chapters will return to the usual 6,000 or so word-count. Also, the next chapter will include a time-skip, just to let you know ahead of time.

Thanks to everyone who's reading and reviewing.;)**  
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**SAVE A PLACE**

**3. Goodbye**

Lucas tilted his head back and surveyed the sky dispassionately. Armor-gray clouds plated the atmosphere, locking away the sun's rays and casting a pall of overcast that looked as dreary as he felt. For an instant, he pictured the heavens fiery-orange, laden with the ash and soot that had once been cities and the constructs of civilization, now just rubbish in the aftermath of some devastating, world-ending calamity. The vision conjured by his imagination dissolved like a fleeting daydream and the sky returned to its gloomy, battleship-hull veneer.

It wasn't the end of the world. In fact, if your names were either Dean Francis or Peyton-soon-to-be-Mrs. Francis-Sawyer, today marked the beginning of a whole new world. If your name was Lucas Scott, it was a world you had no place in.

Lucas, tired of the sky's depressing countenance, turned his attention to the lazy waters of the Cape Fear River. Leaning up against his Shelby, which was parked on the grass that carpeted his and Peyton's old 'spot' on the side of River Road, Lucas squinted at the view across the river. He could just barely make out a grove under a canopy of trees which looked to be part of a small valley. He was certain he'd never noticed the place before, and for reasons he couldn't explain, the sight of it struck a chord somewhere deep inside him. Was it…déjà vu?

Couldn't be. But still, Lucas was unable to shake the notion that something important had happened there once, in another lifetime, or that maybe something important was supposed to happen there. None of it made any sense and he assumed his imagination was just trying to distract him from the crushing despair that was pressing down on him.

Because after all, in about two hours, Peyton Sawyer would become Peyton Francis.

Peyton _Francis_. Didn't sound right at all. He idly wondered if she would keep her last name. Back when they'd been dating, the notion of her taking the name Scott if they ever got married had never come up. Then again, they'd never discussed marriage until he'd blindsided her with his proposal. In retrospect, it probably would've been worth a conversation or two beforehand.

His insides constricted painfully at the thought of _that day_ three years ago, so Lucas tried to think of something else. Fat chance; it was Peyton's wedding day and she was marrying someone that wasn't him. What else was he supposed to think about?

He glanced at his watch: 11:15. Forty-five minutes to go, give-or-take. Time to get moving.

Lucas opened the driver's door of his Shelby and prepared to climb in, but paused for a second and gave the area around him one final look. This would be the last time he ever came here. He was closing the book on a chapter of his life that would officially be over in a few hours and he had undertaken a grand farewell tour of all the places in this town that were tied exclusively to Peyton in his memory. He'd already hit up her old childhood home on Timber Street and the library at Tree Hill High. This had been the final stop.

Now, he had a wedding to get to. Lucas got behind the wheel and closed the driver-side door. The Shelby roared to life and a few seconds later he was on the road and tearing off toward town.

He needed to give Peyton a proper send-off.

xxxxx

St. Mark's cathedral was located on a sleepy side street that saw little activity. Lucas was pleased at the lack of traffic, having only seen two cars pass in the last fifteen minutes. He was parked on the side of the incoming lane, front-to-front with a Dodge pickup and facing the church from a relatively concealed position. He had a clear view of the church steps and the long, black limousine with 'JUST MARRIED' stenciled on its rear windshield. He was several feet away and he doubted anyone there would take special notice of him at this distance.

The cathedral doors were still open and a few last-minute guests straggled in. Lucas looked at his watch: 11:56. The ceremony would start any minute. He assumed everyone he knew was already inside and probably had been for some time. Lucas went over a mental checklist of who was certain to be there and who might or might not be there.

Brooke, of course, since no one else would've been Peyton's made-of-honor, and Julian; Nathan, Haley, and Jamie; Skillz and Mouth, most likely; maybe a few old acquaintances from high school. He knew his mother wouldn't be there since Lily was severely sick and there was no way she'd drag the little girl all the way back to the States in her condition. Lucas was actually relieved.

Then there was also Larry. Lucas hadn't heard one way or the other, but unless he was stuck at sea somewhere, the older man would probably be there. Lucas couldn't help but wonder if Larry found Peyton _Francis_ to be as strange-sounding as he did.

As the last guests arrived, the cathedral doors closed and Lucas knew the wedding was officially under way. He swallowed a lump. This should've been _their_ day. But it wasn't and it never would be and Lucas had accepted that, he _had_. He was leaving Peyton and his past behind for good today, but he didn't want to leave without saying goodbye.

His watch read 12:03. Lucas figured he'd have about twenty minutes before those cathedral doors burst open and both the wedding party and Peyton and her new husband came spilling out onto the sidewalk. That was when Lucas would say his goodbye.

As the minutes passed, Lucas's pulse became heavier and his stomach bubbled with anxiety. He shouldn't be here. His right hand gripped the gear-shift like a vice. _Just go_, a voice inside his head whispered. _Just get out of here, you're better than this_.

At least he used to be. The car didn't move and neither did Lucas's hand.

At 12:20, Lucas turned the ignition key and started the engine. His hand then returned to the gear-shift as he trained his eyes on the cathedral doors. _Any minute now_.

The doors opened and people started to pour out. Lucas scanned the street in front and in back of him: no cars coming in either direction. Excellent. He shifted the Mustang into gear and pulled out into the middle of the road, straddling the yellow line dead-center. Once again, he consulted his mirrors to ensure the coast was clear. Still good.

Lucas saw Brooke, Nathan, Haley, Jamie, Skillz, and Mouth amongst the crowd of guests. They arranged themselves into two lines flanking the still open doors, no doubt grasping handfuls of rice to throw on the lucky couple.

Still in the center of the road, hurriedly checking to make sure no other cars were approaching from behind or from ahead of him, and that no pedestrians were in the street, Lucas waited for the bride and groom to make their debut. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lucas caught sight of brownish-blonde waves and flowing white dress. Peyton Francis, arm-in-arm with her husband, Dean Francis, came striding out into a deluge of tossed rice.

Lucas didn't get a good look at her face, he didn't want to. Instead, he shifted the gear-stick all the way up and stomped down on the gas pedal as hard as he could. The Shelby's rear tires screamed bloody murder and through the center mirror, Lucas saw a thick plume of smoke billowing up from behind him, a consequence of the ferocious clash between rubber and asphalt.

For a good two seconds, the car rattled and rocked in place before finally breaking free and exploding into motion. Hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel, eyes dead ahead, Lucas shot past the limo and the throng of probably bewildered wedding-goers at warp speed, diesel engine roaring banshee-loud, not even sparing a sideways glance. A trail of fading smoke followed in his wake and the acrid stench of burnt rubber was nearly unbearable, searing his throat and nostrils and making his eyes water. He could only imagine how it must've been for everyone back at the church.

Several feet clear of the cathedral, Lucas braked hard and came to a complete halt at a stop sign. He made a hard right at the intersection and drove toward the center of town. The back of his neck burned with the withering glares of disapproval his friends and family were likely shooting in his direction right at this moment. As if on cue, his phone started ringing.

Lucas ignored it and instead focused on driving as conscientiously as he could. Peeling out and tearing down a side street was one thing; driving while talking on the phone or texting was quite another.

xxxxx

A couple of miles out of Tree Hill, his phone finally settled down. They'd given up, for now, but Lucas knew the device's inbox was probably full of extremely angry voicemails.

He didn't blame them, he was actually a little bewildered at himself. Somewhere, in the deepest depths of who he used to be, a voice that sounded eerily similar to the Lucas of high school days spat recriminations at him. _You could've seriously hurt or killed someone, or yourself. What the hell is wrong with you?!_

He had no answer, and little-by-little, that voice was getting easier to ignore. But maybe he wouldn't have to anymore. The stunt he'd just pulled had easily been the stupidest, most immature thing he'd ever done, to be sure, but maybe it was the last of its kind. It had been his final word on the matter of him and Peyton. She was gone now, not physically, but she was married and starting a new life for herself, away from him. Surely the most painful part was over. She would be in New York with her husband and he would be in Tree Hill, and they never had to speak to or see each other again. Yeah.

As he made his way onto the interstate and began driving south, Lucas glanced at the black travel-bag resting on the passenger seat. In it were a few changes of clothes, toiletries and other essentials, his laptop and his Kindle. He'd texted Nathan and Haley this morning and told them he would be out of town for a few days. Lucas didn't know where exactly he was going but he knew he needed to get away and clear his head. By the time he got back, Peyton would be gone and he could start his own new life. Yeah.

So that thing in the front of the church was his final act of defiance. No more bullshit, no more moping around, no more being stuck in place; no, from now on, Lucas Scott was moving forward. Peyton Sawyer was Peyton Francis; she would never be Peyton Scott. All the plans they'd made and all the promises they'd shared before she'd gone off to LA all those years ago were little more than ashes. It hurt, worse than any hurt he'd ever experienced, but he could deal with it.

Up ahead, traffic began to thicken and slow and Lucas was forced to brake. Before long, cars began to back up and traffic came to a virtual stand-still, crawling along a few inches every few minutes. In the distance, Lucas could make out a lightshow of red and blue strobes, emergency vehicles. A bad accident.

Sighing, Lucas leaned back in the leather seat. Looked like he wouldn't be going anywhere for awhile. With nothing better to do, he grabbed his phone and checked his voicemail. One from Brooke, one from Nathan, three from Haley, and one from Skillz. Taking in a breath, Lucas listened to the first one:

"First message." ==BEEP==

"_Nice Luke, real classy_." – Brooke

==BEEP== "Message erased."

"Next message."

"_What the hell's wrong with you, man? You realize how easily you could've wrecked and hurt someone, or yourself?! That's something I would've done as a teenager, not something I'd have expected my twenty-three-year-old brother to do. I know this has been hard for you, but I never thought it would've turned you into such a dick. When you get back from wherever it is you go, you better have a brand-new attitude!_" – Nathan

==BEEP== "Message erased."

"Next message."

"_Jesus Luke, are you out of your mind?! What's wrong with you?!_" – Haley

==BEEP== "Message erased."

"Next message."

"_Lucas, pick up the phone! Alright, fine! But just so you know, I had to lie to my five-year-old son about why his uncle was driving like such a lunatic! I told him someone was in trouble and you had to get to them in a hurry. God, I just—I cannot believe you would try and ruin Peyton's wedding like that! Nice work, Evil Knievel._" – Haley

Guilt hammered at Lucas. He hadn't considered that. Traffic nudged forward and Lucas relaxed up on the brake slightly. Keeping one eye on the gridlock, he returned to his voicemail:

==BEEP== "Message erased."

"Next message."

"_Oh, and the by the way, I promised Karen I'd send her a video of the ceremony and the reception, and guess what, your little stunt is in high definition. How do you think your mom's going to react to the sight of her supposedly responsible adult son peeling out and tearing down the street like a jackass? Just curious._" – Haley

Lucas winced. Crap, he hadn't considered _that_, either.

==BEEP== "Message erased."

"Next message."

"_Yo' Luke, that was some nice stunting, the place still smells like burnt rubber. When you get back to town, holler at me and we'll go out for some beers. Keep it real_." – Skillz

==BEEP== "Message erased."

"End of new messages."

Lucas exited his voicemail and shut his phone off, tossing it on the passenger seat with his bag. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And yet, there was a deranged part of him that was amused the same way Skillz was. Good Lucas wanted to immediately turn around, race back to Tree Hill, and apologize profusely to everyone. Bad Lucas just wanted to laugh out loud.

He also couldn't help but feel disappointed that there were no messages from Peyton. Why, he couldn't explain, but he wouldn't have minded hearing her voice one last time, even tinged with fury.

Whatever the case, there was no turning back. He needed to be away from the town that held so many memories of _her_ so he could straighten himself out. Slowly, traffic began to untangle and move. It looked as though the accident had been mostly cleared away and within a few minutes, Lucas began coasting at about thirty to forty miles-and-hour without having to brake much. He continued south on the interstate, heading to destinations unknown.

It would only be a few days of sabbatical, what trouble could he get into? On the horizon of the metal-gray sky, black storm clouds brewed.

**~Chapter Three End**


	4. Limbo

**A/N: **Hey, sorry for the delay. This chapter isn't quite 6,000 words but it's close enough.;)

LEYTONALWAYS: Sorry to hear you won't be tuning in anymore; I always hate to lose readers. I understand you have your beliefs, though. Truth is, I never thought I'd be writing a story that involved either Lucas and Peyton marrying someone else but the idea just wouldn't leave my head so I had to write it. I hope you change your mind.

Anyway, thanks to everyone that's reading and reviewing.**  
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**SAVE A PLACE**

**4. Limbo**

_**Two Years Later**_

_It's amazing how things can change_, Brooke Baker mused to herself as she strolled up Main Street. Most of Tree Hill was just waking up to the first light of another Monday morning. For Brooke, who co-owned and operated her own business, Monday was just another workday and first light meant it was time to hustle. Yet her gait did not alter. No sense in wasting the calm before rush-hour.

She usually drove to work, but her BMW was at the dealer undergoing an extended service package so she'd had her husband drop her off near town square so she could walk the rest of the way. Though it had been months since the wedding, being Mrs. Julian Baker was still a new concept to her. She still sometimes couldn't believe she'd found and married the guy of her dreams; it was like Heaven had descended to earth just for her.

_If only my best friend had married the guy of _her_ dreams_. The thought was a black cloud over her good mood and she tried to banish it. Dwelling on problems she had no power to solve was never productive but she couldn't _not_ dwell on it. Brooke Baker liked to fix people and things. In fact, had she been raised in different circumstances and not sucked at math, she was certain she would've been a handywoman.

Not being able to fix her best friend was torture and brooding about it was even worse torture so she cleared her head and tried to smile. Above her, the sky over Tree Hill was a mix of beryl and orange as the early morning finished giving birth to daylight. Birds fluttered and frolicked every which way, hunting for breakfast, and the growing whisper of traffic was like the sound of the ocean.

Brooke breathed deeply: the air was humid and seasoned faintly with salt. You had to love North Carolina. She'd come back after marrying Julian and wished she'd never left. She passed a telephone pole and was amused to find it wrapped in U. G. Nero ads. Looked like New Gothic Press was really pulling out all the stops when it came to pimping Nero's upcoming book.

U. G. Nero was a new player on the horror scene. The author had written two novels so far, _Hollow_ and _The Burn Center_, which had apparently been downloaded well over a million times each, and was currently working on a third. Even so, the fact that Nero's works were exclusively in ebook format and the fact that he or she was so reclusive kept the author from achieving the notoriety of other best-selling horror writers. No one knew who U. G. Nero was, and there were no pictures, bios, interviews, or book-tours to provide any hints.

Brooke only knew all this because Julian never shut-up about it. Her husband had been driving himself, and her, crazy for months desperately trying to track down Nero's identity so he could option the film-rights to _Hollow_ and _The Burn Center_, or at least one of the two. No matter how much Julian pleaded with his 'contact' over at New Gothic Press, the ebook publisher refused to break their author's confidentiality.

The brunette was thrilled that her husband was so passionate about his work but she really wished he'd cool it on the Nero-issue. After all, it wasn't like he was floundering. Julian had made a splash on the Wilmington film scene and was in the process of producing an independent movie there. He also owned and rented out a studio in Tree Hill which was doing great business, so it wasn't like his career depended on getting Nero to sign over the movie-rights to his books. But Brooke couldn't complain too much. One of the things she loved about Julian the most was his tenacity: when he saw something he wanted, he would stop at nothing to get it.

Brooke reached her destination just as the morning rush-hour swung into full-tilt. Unlocking the doors to Karen's Café, the bell above the entrance greeted her with a tinkle as she stepped inside. As she surveyed the warmly furnished interior, the brunette couldn't help but marvel. Never in a million years had she thought Karen's Café would ever make a comeback, with Brooke at the helm no less. Although Haley had given her the idea and invested 50%, it had been Brooke who had undertaken the restoration of the establishment Karen had worked so hard to build.

Victoria's and the board of directors' shady business practices had destroyed Clothes Over Bro's and that loss still hurt sometimes, but Brooke couldn't deny that it had all worked out in the long run. The plaque above the entrance caught her attention:

"_Somebody told me that this is the place where everything's better and everything's safe_."

Once again, Brooke could not stop herself from thinking of her best friend.

"_Are you still in love with Lucas?"_

_Brooke had not wanted to ask that question, but it had to be asked, and the deer-in-headlights look that enveloped Peyton's face demonstrated why. For about a minute, there was dead silence. Night slowly crept up and smothered the culvert as the two best friends perched near the bottom, stuck in a stalemate._

_Peyton's mouth opened, closed, and then opened again. Brooke had her answer but waited for Peyton to speak nonetheless. "Brooke…"_

"_It's okay P. Sawyer…"_

_The blonde shook her head fiercely. "No it's not! Dean loves me, he's a good man, and Lucas hates me. So tomorrow, I'm getting married one way or the other."_

"_Peyton, you can't! First of all, Lucas does not hate you, and second of all, you can't go through with this wedding when you're clearly still in love with him!"_

_Peyton sniffled, tears glistening her eyes. "I have to Brooke, I can't break Dean's heart, not after he proposed to me in front of everyone and I already said yes."_

"_Peyton!"_

"_And you're wrong about Lucas," she said, ignoring the brunette's interjection. "I ruined his life, I hurt him so badly and I don't want to do the same thing to Dean."_

"_Peyton, what happened between you and Lucas was just as much his fault as it was yours," Brooke said. "And you're the one who's wrong about Lucas; that boy is still in love with you. Don't run away from that and into marriage just because you feel like there's nowhere else to go."_

_Peyton looked at her. "I don't get it, Brooke. You practically threatened to bust Lucas's kneecaps to keep him away from me, now you're encouraging me to leave my fiancé for him. What's changed?"_

_Brooke sighed. "I messed up, okay? I was so angry at how much you suffered because of him and I vented all that pent-up rage on him at the party. I talked to him earlier today and I apologized. Peyton, he's as lost and as scared as you are, and I tried my best to comfort him and encourage him to let you go and move on because I thought you were marrying a man you loved and would be happy with. Now, everything has changed, and as your best friend I will not let you condemn yourself to a lifetime of misery and regret."_

_Peyton shook her head again. "It's not like that, Brooke. Dean loves me and he's been so wonderful to me. Walking away from him now after I promised to be his wife would be no better than what Lucas did back in LA. He said he would love me forever, Brooke; he promised me he would always be there for me and then one day I woke up and he was gone, just gone, and he didn't call or write or try to see me, he just cut me out of his life, and that was it!"_

_Peyton was crying now and when Brooke tried to comfort her, the blonde waved her off. "Peyton, this is exactly why you shouldn't be walking down that aisle tomorrow. You never really dealt with what happened between you and Lucas and you never stopped being in love with him." Brooke closed her eyes to ward off the approaching headache. "This is all my fault; I never should've set you up with Dean."_

"_No, it's not your fault, Brooke," said Peyton. "I should've said yes. When Lucas proposed to me, I—I…I wish more than anything I'd said yes!" That last part came out as a strangled sob and this time Brooke would not let Peyton reject her comfort._

_As Brooke held her crying best friend she prayed for some solution to this whole ridiculous mess. She hoped she could convince the blonde that she couldn't go through with tomorrow. "Peyton, you can't marry Dean."_

_Peyton stiffened and pulled away and Brooke knew she was losing her. "Brooke, I have to. We're not in high school anymore, and I'm not a teenager, I'm an adult. I made a commitment to Dean and I have to honor it."_

"_Peyton, you say you're an adult so start acting like one!" Brooke hated to be harsh, but she didn't see any other way. "Didn't you learn anything from what happened between you and Jake? He turned down your proposal because he knew you were in love with Lucas and that you were hiding from it. I wish Dean wasn't so obtuse."_

"_Brooke, stop!" Peyton let out a breath and collected herself. "It's too late, okay?"_

_Brooke shook her head. "Peyton…"_

"_Brooke, please?" The blonde's eyes were watery and pleading. "You're my best friend and I need you there. So can we just drop it?"_

_Brooke stared at her, torn. She wanted to fight, she wanted to scream at Peyton and knock her upside the head until she saw sense. The old Brooke Davis would have done those things without question, but within the last four years, she'd lost something of the old Brooke._

_So she nodded and said nothing further._

Brooke turned away from the plaque and set her purse down on the counter. She could blame Victoria; she could blame it on the four years she'd spent under her mother's thumb, a puppet of her ambitions and whims and a verbal punching bag for her venomous tongue. She could blame it on that, say it had robbed her of her self-confidence and self-respect.

But that would be a copout. The truth was, she'd let her mother and her life in New York take those things from her. Being with Julian, marrying him, building the life she'd always wanted with him, knowing that he loved her unconditionally for who she truly was, had helped her regain the parts of herself she'd lost, but it had been too little to prevent her company from crumbling and too late to stop her best friend from making one of the biggest mistakes of her life.

The day of Peyton's wedding to Dean, Brooke had plastered on a phony smile that had fooled no one, nailed the bubbly-Brooke Davis mask on her face, and had dutifully played the role of the made of honor all the while desperately clinging to the hope that Peyton would open her eyes and call the whole thing off. She was pretty sure Nathan, Haley, and everyone else in their circle of friends there had been doing the same thing.

What was done was done, though.

Sighing, Brooke dumped her purse in its usual spot in the back office and then returned to the front to start the coffee-maker. Soon after, her morning staff arrived and the café officially opened just as the sun finished its rise. Since she'd opted to walk half the distance to the café today, she'd opened a bit later than usual, but she was glad she'd been able to get things running before any of the early-morning regulars wandered in.

Glancing at the clock, it occurred to Brooke that one early-morning regular in particular was also behind schedule. He was usually here at the crack of dawn. As if on cue, the bell chimed and the person in question slipped into the café.

Dressed in faded jeans and a white, long-sleeved shirt with a hoody attached at the neckline, sandy-blond hair short and disarrayed, hands in his pockets, Lucas Scott seemed to materialize in front of the counter like a blue-eyed ghost.

"Hey Brooke," he said.

"Hey, Luke. The usual?"

Lucas merely nodded and Brooke set about making his daily cup of morning tea. For as long as Brooke had been operating Karen's Café, Lucas would come in every morning before dawn, order green tea, and then glide up the stairs to the roof, presumably to watch the sunrise. Brooke was never really sure, though.

As the tea brewed she turned back to her friend who had taken a seat on one of the stools at the counter. Not for the first time, her attention was drawn to the marks on the side of his neck. They looked like scar-tissue and she got the impression the collar of his shirt was hiding the majority of it. She had noticed similar scar-tissue on the palms of his hands and it wasn't lost on her that she had never seen Lucas wearing anything other than a long-sleeved high-collar shirt since she'd been back in Tree Hill.

Something had happened. Brooke was nosey by nature, always had been, and she was a lot more perceptive than most people gave her credit for. In the past, she probably would've bluntly asked him outright about the scars or made some lame joke about needing to use better sun tan lotion the next time he hit the beach. However, the years had wizened Brooke and she sensed that questioning him about it would be a bad idea, just like she knew never to mention the P-word around him.

So instead she had mentioned it to Haley, hoping the girl would fill Brooke in. No such luck, though. Haley had artfully dodged every question Brooke had lobbed at her and then politely, but firmly, insisted on a change of topic. What's more, Haley had made her promise never, ever to bring this up to Karen, _ever_. That had really unnerved Brooke and quadrupled her suspicions that something really bad had gone down in the two years between Peyton's wedding and her own wedding to Julian.

Brooke was determined to figure out what had happened, but for now she had to be content with wondering about it.

"So," Brooke said, stirring the tea. "What's new with you? Editing any good books?"

Lucas cocked an eyebrow. "No, why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"Brooke…"

"Okay, Julian won't stop going on about this Nero guy. He really wants to make movies of his books," she said. "Can't you help me out a little?"

Lucas brushed the back of his scarred neck with his hand and shrugged. "Some authors just really like their privacy. Sorry."

Brooke feigned a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But my husband's heart is breaking, just so you know." Carefully, she lifted the kettle and poured the tea into a tin drinking cup.

"I feel his pain," Lucas said.

Brooke chuckled. "I'm sure you do." She set the cup of tea on the counter before him and collected the money he'd laid there. "So, if you're not editing any good books, are you at least reading any?"

"Uh, yeah actually, I've been reading Homer lately," he said.

"Wow," said Brooke, perplexed. "I had no idea _The Simpsons_ had its own set of tie-in novels, or that you'd be bored enough to read them. Isn't comedy, like, impossible to pull off in modern literature?"

Lucas gawked at the second head she'd apparently just sprouted. "No Brooke, Homer as in the ancient Greek poet, not Homer Simpson."

Flame licked at her cheeks. "Oh, right, I totally knew that. I was just messing with you."

A gravelly chuckle escaped from his diaphragm. "Brooke, I hope you never change."

She smiled at him. "Yeah, I am pretty spectacular, but change is good sometimes."

Now on his feet, Lucas gave her a half-smile and brought the cup of tea to his lips, taking a tepid sip of the steamy liquid.

"Speaking of which," said Brooke. "What exactly do you do up on that rooftop every morning? I hope you're not chucking things at people on the street, that could be very bad for business."

"No," said Lucas. "I just like to watch the sunrise."

"Sun's already up today," Brooke said. "Which, I'll admit, is kind of my fault since I opened late."

Lucas shrugged. "Guess I'll just count the clouds till I finish my tea." With that he made off for the stairs.

Brooke frowned. Lucas had always been the stoic one of their group, but this version went beyond that. Certainly, she was glad that the reckless, hard-drinking, stunt-driving Lucas from two years ago was no longer on stage, but this new Lucas was just strange. Her mental description of him earlier as a ghost was apt. He was like an apparition, floating just outside of everyone's line of sight and haunting the town at night.

His beach house was only a short distance away from her and Julian's condo and sometimes they would catch sight of Lucas wandering the beach after dark. Not that moonlit beach excursions weren't romantic; she'd gone on plenty of them with Julian. Lucas, on the other hand, was always alone and she'd seen him out there on cloudy nights and when it was raining.

It was like he was hollow and it hurt Brooke to see him like this. She knew a large part of it had to do with a certain green-eyed blonde but she assumed it was also about whatever had given him those scars. If only Brooke could get some answers about that…

And if only Brooke could tell Lucas that Peyton was not happily married.

xxxxx

"What's going through that beautiful head of yours, Brooke Baker?"

Brooke smiled at her husband, warmth blooming in her chest. With his adorably floppy brown hair, endearing scruff, and boyish grin, Julian Baker never failed to give her butterflies. They were on the café rooftop having their usual mid-afternoon lunch together. Shortly after Lucas had left, customers had started pouring in and two of her servers had called out sick so Brooke had been rushing around all morning taking up the slack. Naturally, Julian had offered to give her a foot-massage after they ate since her soles were killing her.

Still, the hectic morning wasn't what was weighing on her.

"Sorry for spacing out," she said. "I'm just worried about Peyton, and Lucas."

Julian nodded in recognition. "Ah, when those two get mentioned in the same sentence, you-know-what always seems to be ready to hit the fan."

"You-know-what hit the fan two years ago," said Brooke, the graveness in her voice more revealing than she'd intended.

Julian sighed lightly, taking her hand in his. "Brooke you've got to stop blaming yourself for what happened. Peyton made her decision. You tried to talk her out of it, but in the end, it was up to her."

Deflated, Brooke could only nod.

"Lucas made his decisions, too," Julian said. "He and Peyton both made their mistakes and just always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time; there was nothing you could have done."

"I know that, I do," Brooke said. "It just sucks how lost and unhappy they both are. I mean, those two are supposed to be together but somehow they each got so turned around and damaged. I'm just not sure there's any way back for them."

"Brooke, there's always a way back," Julian said. "But it's up to Lucas and Peyton to find it, not you."

"Well that sucks." She was moved by how wise her husband was but she couldn't help but be a little petulant.

Julian chuckled. "Welcome to life, Brooke Baker."

Brooke raised her eyebrow. "Do you write these lines down ahead of time, or something?"

Julian grinned. "No, I rehearse. It's way more effective than simple memorization."

"Uh-huh." She threw a small piece of bread at him and he vainly tried to catch it in his mouth. As their laughter died down, a comfortable silence fell over them and Brooke couldn't help but bask in the moment. She loved that she'd be able to do things like this with him for the rest of her life.

"Anyway," said Julian. "I don't suppose you were able to convince Lucas to reveal Nero's identity, were you?"

Brooke gave him a look. "Seriously? This again?"

Julian raised his hands in deference. "Sorry, sorry, I got to hustle, baby."

Brooke snorted. "You did not just say that."

He shrugged. "I think I've been hanging around Skillz too much."

"Clearly," Brooke said. But then she leaned forward slightly, almost conspiratorially, though she doubted anyone was listening in. "But now that we're back on the subject of Lucas, have you seen those scars?"

Julian frowned. "Yeah. He tries to downplay them but they're definitely noticeable on his neck and his hands. I never asked him about it, though. I didn't think it would be a good idea."

They were very much in tune there. "Yeah, me either. Haley and Nathan definitely know but I can't get either of them to talk to me about it, and for some reason, Haley doesn't want anyone telling Karen about it. Something really serious happened, and whatever it is they're keeping Karen out of the loop which is really messed up. I mean, how could they do that? If my child was ever injured bad enough to leave scars like that I sure as hell would want to know about it."

She'd gotten more worked up than she'd consciously realized and Julian squeezed her hand gently, trying to calm her. "Brooke, we don't know the full story. I'm sure they have their reasons for not telling you or Karen. Maybe you just have to give them time, or maybe you should just ask Lucas directly, I don't know."

Brooke sighed. "I just hate how fragmented are circle of friends has become. I think whatever happened to Lucas is a major reason why he's so estranged from Haley and Nathan. I mean, Nathan's a Bobcat now so it makes sense that they'd take Jamie and move to Charlotte, but I get the impression Lucas doesn't talk to them that much anymore. They haven't come back to visit once and I don't think Lucas has ever gone up to see them."

"Brooke," Julian said, stroking her thumb with his. "You're going to drive yourself crazy with all this speculation. Things have a way of working themselves out in time, so just relax and let it be."

She blew out a breath. She knew her husband was right, but still…

Julian crossed his arms and leaned toward her. "Look," he said, with the same conspiratorial air Brooke had adopted. "Just between you and me, those scars on Lucas look like second-degree burns."

Brooke was taken back. "What? How do you know that?"

"I don't for sure, I'm just telling you what they look like to me," he said. "After I graduated college, I interned at this small-time studio that produced mostly made-for-TV sci-fi flicks. One day, there was a special-effects accident and a key grip got burned really badly. The scars he got from the second-degree burns looked almost exactly like the ones Lucas has on his neck and his palms."

Stunned, Brooke said: "Oh my God, I can't believe it. How bad are second-degree burns?"

"Bad," Julian said, wincing. "Not as bad as third-degree but still really painful, especially if they're deep and it covers a wide area. I'll never forget the way that key grip was screaming when they took him out in a stretcher."

The food suddenly tasted bitter and Brooke abandoned what was left of her sandwich. What could've given Lucas such bad burns and why hadn't anybody called her in New York? Why were Haley and Nathan keeping this under wraps? Her head was spinning and she realized she'd never be able to heed her husband's advice to let it go now.

She looked at him. "You just told me not drive myself crazy speculating."

"Yeah, but I know you Brooke Baker," said Julian. "When you see people you care about in pain or in trouble, you have to meddle, that's just who you are."

Yet more warmth traveled up and down her body. "You do know me, and I love you for that."

"I love you too, Mrs. Baker."

Brooke would never get tired of hearing that. Still, though, she didn't know how to handle any of this. It would be easier if Haley would let her in on the details but that wasn't likely to happen, and Brooke was afraid she might alienate her friend and business partner if she pushed the issue, and it would be even worse if she tried to pry information from Nathan behind Haley's back.

That left Lucas himself but that seemed like wading into dangerous waters. She was stalled on that front so she figured it would be best to work on the other front for now.

Her phone rang and she fished it from her purse. _Speak of the devil_, she thought as a picture of her best friend filled the screen. Brooke mouthed 'Peyton' to Julian, who nodded, before answering.

"Hey best friend," Brooke said into the phone. Her brow furrowed as the blonde began speaking quickly. "Okay, slow down."

Julian looked over at her with obvious concern. As Peyton continued speaking Brooke's face must've registered the shock and outrage she felt because her husband asked her what was wrong.

Ignoring him, Brooke continued to listen to her best friend. "He what?! You're what?!"

And suddenly, the day got a lot more complicated.

xxxxx

The day was dead, the only traces of its once brilliant light now a faint purplish aftertaste on the night, like the darkest wine or stale blood. Over the roiling ocean, Lucas could make out a few smokey clouds frozen in the sky like petrified antelope that had fallen behind the herd and were now easy marks for any predators that might happen by.

The view of the sea his beachfront property offered was unparalleled and was what had sealed the deal for Lucas when he'd purchased it. It was a two-story, modest-sized house with an attached two-car garage, and a second-floor balcony that overlooked an in-ground pool and a small gazebo which, together with the pool, took up about half of the backyard. The place was relatively isolated, about a quarter-mile distance from neighboring properties and sequestered from the hustle-and-bustle of Tree Hill proper, another factor that had convinced Lucas to buy it.

As he gazed out at the cresting and crashing of the ocean through the glass of the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the east side of the den, Lucas sipped at a bottle of diet-Coke. People were saying the stuff could give you seizures, but Lucas figured his genetically-flawed heart would kill him long before that. Besides, he needed to satiate that nagging craving for something cold and fizzy, and since he didn't drink anymore, he figured this was the healthiest option. For some reason, the lure of fading twilight and the silvery glow of the tide at night stoked that craving in him, and, usually after a walk on the beach, he would find himself posted at the main windows at the end of each day, enjoying a diet soda and staring down at the waters.

It was one of the few simple pleasures he had in life nowadays.

There was no moon tonight, which was a shame. When the shafts of lunar glow highlighted the beach, making the sand look like snow, and cast a wavering disc of ivory on the face of the Atlantic, it made for an unforgettable sight. Those were the nights that Lucas would venture out onto the sand and sit before the sea for hours, sometimes till morning. He looked forward to those nights more than anything, so much so that he kept close track of the lunar calendar.

On those nights, Lucas, bathed in moon-glow and kneeling in frosty granules of earth, felt as though he was on the precipice of another world. He needed that feeling; it kept the demons at bay.

Lucas drained the last of the soda and capped the bottle. Tossing it into the waste basket by the breakfast counter in the kitchen area, he then made a sweep of the first floor to make sure all the doors and windows were secure and everything was in its place. Then, rubbing his calloused and scarred hands together, he proceeded up the stairs to the second floor.

The house had three bedrooms. Lucas didn't sleep in the master, even though it was the largest. The master bedroom had sliding glass doors that serviced the balcony, which in turn had a wooden fire-escape connected to it that led down to the house's wrap-around porch. Lucas felt too exposed sleeping there, so he made the first guest room, which had no balcony, his quarters. Although it wasn't as big, it did have a walk-in bathroom with a shower just as the master did.

Closing the door behind him, Lucas entered the bathroom, turned on the light, and began to strip off his clothes. Showering before bed had become a habit. So had stopping before the mirror to survey his network of scar-tissue.

Taking in his shirtless reflection, Lucas's eyes traced the thin, pink scar-line that slithered up his right arm from his forearm all the way to his shoulder. Although he worked it out as best he could, that arm wasn't as strong or as responsive as his left and probably never would be again. His gaze then traveled to the left arm. The bicep and triceps areas sported spatters of pink and warped flesh, second-degree burns that had not healed properly.

More spatters of burn-scars decorated his left shoulder and extended diagonally across his front torso toward his lower right side, though not quite reaching it. But the worst of them were to be found on his back. From the left side of his lower neck, across the back of his neck, and blanketing a sizeable portion of his upper and lower back, were the after-effects of deep second-degree burns and a few smaller third-degree burns.

Reconstructive surgery might have been able to clean up some of it, but Lucas left his scars the way they were. They served as a constant reminder of how far he'd fallen back then and as a symbol of the mistakes he'd made. He'd earned these disfigurements with his stupidity and recklessness and he deserved to bear them for the rest of his life.

And besides, they were nothing compared to the scars on the inside.

As the showerhead pounded him with steaming water, the scar-tissue felt cold, almost icy under the hot spray. It was a strange inverse, as whenever he was cold they would feel hot. Lucas figured it was all just his imagination.

After his shower, he brushed his teeth then dried off and threw on a pair of dark-blue checkered pajama-bottoms and a white t-shirt. His head hit the pillow and the comforter shrouded his tired body, but he did not sleep. He probably wouldn't for a while and chances are he'd wake up more than once in the middle of the night after one nightmare or another. He was used to it by now.

Why shouldn't he be? After all, he'd visited Hell.

**~Chapter Four End**


	5. The Smoke from Past Wrecks

**A/N: **First off, I deeply apologize for taking so long to get this chapter up. I don't like making excuses but I just kept getting distracted by stuff and it took forever to get this chapter written. Also, in a couple of weeks, I'll be starting my (hopefully) final semester of university and possibly a new job, so there's a good chance updates will be erratic depending on the workload I'll be facing.

Second, let me once again thank everyone that's reading and reviewing this story.

LEYTONALWAYS: Glad to see you back, and I appreciate you giving this story a chance.;)

Anyway, without further ado, here is chapter five. And don't worry, come next chapter, you'll finally get some major LP interaction.**  
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**SAVE A PLACE**

**5. The Smoke from Past Wrecks**

_He is burning alive._

_Agony as bright as molten steel, of the sort he never knew existed, perforates him all the way to the bone. His muscle-tissue screams in torment as it boils but he cannot scream because smoke and the stench of melted leather and plastic and overcooked meat tinged with copper clogs his airways and violates his nostrils and he can't so much as take in a breath without feeling as though thousands of razor blades are lacerating the inside of his chest cavity._

_His flesh is melting._

_Through the scalding haze he feels it on his back and his left arm; like wet taffy his skin seems to be oozing off him. The air is searing hot and it bites him everywhere, jagged teeth, like a swarm of piranhas chewing away. He sees nothing through the tears but a pulsing, white-hot orange tainted by roiling miasma._

_Searing, scalding, scorching, boiling agony; unrelenting and all-over, in his skull, behind his eyeballs, under his teeth, in the marrow. It does not cease, even for an instant, and he wants more than anything to scream, he MUST scream, but nothing but broiling smoke emerges._

_His right arm is gone._

_It is now nothing more than a raw nerve of crackling anguish, fused with something long and jagged and sharp. When he tries to move it he is punished instantly and severely, and so he lays there on his side, mangled arm outstretched before him, slowly incinerating. This is the position he will die in._

_Why won't he die? Eternities pass, seemingly, and yet he continues to live and burn. He tries to move yet again but his mutilated arm viciously disciplines him and so he lays there and burns. But he has to move, he needs to move, he must move; move, MOVE, __**MOVE!**_

_He moves and his arm unleashes its wrath on him but he bears it, just like he bears the hideous heat that bubbles and peels his back and other arm away. His murky vision shudders and spins like a dropped camera and his center of gravity spins out of control, if it ever was in control to begin with. There is no 'him' anymore; he no longer exists, there is only the fire now._

_Then he's back and as he scrabbles over something hard and bent beyond recognition, his palms grasp hot metal and once again he becomes fire, like an eternally burning flame in Hell. Blackness follows._

_And then he's back again, face-down in something soft. It is grass, and he can breathe! But then he wishes he couldn't because the agony is there, everywhere, in his left arm, on his back, in his right arm, and in his chest. His mouth opens wide, his jaws lock painfully, and still no sound issues forth. All around him, the grass is painted fluorescent orange and embers flutter about restlessly. Vomit spills out of his open mouth and congeals on the grass beside him, splashing him in the eyes, on his cheek, and below his nostrils, and he smells the stale odor of regurgitated beer._

_In the distance, he hears high-pitched wailing. It gets louder and louder until it's right in his ear, and then he-_

-reached over and silenced his alarm clock. Lucas let out a shaky breath and his arm dropped across the edge of the bed lazily. He stared up at the ceiling, eyes still clouded with after-sleep.

"That dream again…"

xxxxx

First light was still about twenty minutes away by the time Lucas had gotten up, eaten, completed his morning work-out routine, and showered. Dressed in his usual assortment of jeans and a dark-gray, long-sleeved shirt with a button-up collar, he was just getting ready to head off to the café when his doorbell rang.

Puzzled, Lucas made his way over to the front door. He never got visitors this early. Through the peephole, he saw Julian standing on his porch, hands in his pockets. Lucas opened the door and invited the taller man in.

"I can't stay long," Julian said. "I just have a favor to ask. I hope you're not busy today."

Lucas squinted. In fact, he had been planning on working on something today; it was something he'd been working on for awhile and he really needed to get it done. But Julian seemed pensive about something so Lucas decided to hear him out before outright saying that he was going to be busy.

"What's up?"

"I know this is a lot to ask so suddenly, but could you maybe run the café for the day?"

Surprised, Lucas looked at him. "Me?"

Julian nodded. "From what Brooke says, you practically grew up working there when you were a kid so you definitely have the experience, and you're the only one around Brooke trusts to do it. She called the staff already and told them you might be managing things today, so everyone already knows."

"Is Brooke sick?"

Julian fidgeted nervously and Lucas got the impression the other man was thinking about how to respond, which was odd since it was a pretty straightforward question. "Actually, Brooke and I have to go pick someone up from the airport and help them get settled in, which might take awhile."

Lucas didn't ask who this someone was; probably a friend the couple knew from New York. Still, he was puzzled by Julian's hesitation to tell him that. He sighed. "Well…"

"Look, it isn't fair to dump this on you first thing in the morning, and if you can't, that's okay," said Julian. "It's just that Brooke really doesn't want to close and lose a day's worth of revenue so you'd really be helping her out."

Lucas wanted to say no since he really did have stuff he needed to do. But he also knew that he'd feel endlessly guilty about it and wouldn't be able to get anything done regardless, plus Brooke had been a great friend these past four months, letting him hang out on the café's rooftop while she was opening. He owed her.

"Alright. I was heading there anyway so I might as well stay till closing time."

Visibly relieved, Julian patted him on the shoulder. "Thanks man, I knew we could count on you."

Julian left quickly after that to go collect Brooke and then make way to the airport while Lucas promptly gathered his phone, Kindle, and his brown, corduroy jacket. Not at all how he wanted to spend the day but he wasn't expecting it to be too much trouble. It had been a long while but he'd run the café for his mother so many times back during his high school years it should still be second nature even after all this time.

He shrugged on his coat, grabbed his keys, and exited his beach house, locking the door behind him. In the driveway, his jet-black Audi S7 waited patiently for him. He remote-started the car then unlocked it and slid behind the wheel. There were many days where he desperately missed the Mustang Shelby GT500 he'd inherited from Keith. But that was gone forever, just like the man that had bequeathed it to him.

Nevertheless, as the Audi's ridiculously sophisticated on-board computer auto-adjusted the environmental controls and served him with a cornucopia of data, Lucas couldn't deny the German-engineered vehicle was a pleasure to drive, and it had almost as much power under the hood as his Shelby had once had. Aside from his late-night walks, driving this machine was one of the few things Lucas truly enjoyed these days.

So there was no reason to dwell on his former ride; Lucas had learned the hard way that holding onto things that no longer were brought nothing but trouble and misery.

As Lucas put the Audi in gear and glided onto the streets of Tree Hill toward the center of town, he couldn't get rid of the nagging curiosity: just who were Brooke and Julian picking up at the airport?

xxxxx

As the plane disgorged her and her fellow passengers, Peyton Sawyer set foot in Tree Hill for the first time since her wedding to Dean Francis. With only her purse and a small bag of essentials, she was carrying light and didn't need to stand at attention with the other spectators at the baggage carousel. Instead, she scanned the busy throngs of disembarking and embarking passengers, expectant friends and relatives, and loitering layovers for familiar faces.

Brooke and Julian had said they'd be here but as Peyton glanced around the waiting area, she didn't see them sitting anywhere or standing near any of the arrays of chairs. Biting her lip, she continued to seek out her best friend or her husband. Peyton knew they wouldn't have forgotten, they were probably just running late or wandering around looking for her. This airport wasn't exactly LAX but it could still be a challenge to navigate when it was crowded.

Letting out a breath, she took a seat in one of the hard, plastic chairs that gave her a clear view of the gate's entrance, hoping to catch sight of Brooke and Julian. She shouldn't be nervous; after all, it wasn't like she was in some foreign country where no one spoke English. It was the town she grew up in. Yet Peyton could not pacify the butterflies in her stomach.

Here she was: unemployed, single, and crawling back to her hometown at twenty-five without the slightest idea of what she was supposed to do with herself. Peyton had lost her job and reputation back in LA and since she'd never went to college, she had no degree to fall back on. Somebody might as well stick a fork in her because she was pretty much done.

_Stop it_, she rebuked herself silently. That was exactly the sort of mentality that had led her to so many bad decisions these past five years. She was here to rebuild her life, not crawl into a hole and die. Tree Hill was home, even if it was a nest of bad memories, it also held incredibly joyful memories as well and it was where her best friend was, so it only made sense to be here.

But Peyton was dreading seeing a certain someone. She knew he was still living here but nothing else. And yet she wanted to know everything but was terrified of finding out.

"P. Sawyer!"

Peyton's head snapped up and she stood just in time to catch her best friend in her arms. Brooke Baker hugged her fiercely and Peyton gave as a good as she got, her eyes burning with emotion.

"I'm so glad you're home," said Brooke.

"Yeah, me too," Peyton said, voice whispery and cracking.

After a few more seconds of cuddle-time between her and Brooke, the brunette disengaged and stepped back slightly so her husband could move in. Julian pulled Peyton into his own hug, his pointy chin resting on her head. "Good to see you, Peyton. My wife's been going crazy without you here."

"Yeah, I'll bet," she said. Peyton withdrew, sniffling a little bit. "I've missed you guys. Thanks for picking me up though I'm sorry for bothering you like this."

"Peyton!" Brooke's tone was reproachful. "I would've been pissed if you hadn't called. I'm just glad you're here now. I would've flown out to LA and gotten you if you'd asked."

"Yeah, well, you're an awesome friend, B. Baker," Peyton said, teasing a smile out of the brunette.

Julian pointed to her overnight bag. "Is that all you brought?"

"Yeah," Peyton said. "Most of my stuff is still in my apartment back in LA; I'll send for it later."

Brooke took Peyton's hand in hers. "What happened, P. Sawyer? You didn't give a lot of details on the phone."

Peyton sighed. "It's a long story, Brooke. I'll tell you about it in the car." She halted. "Then again, maybe I should just call a cab and have them take me to a hotel—"

"Do NOT make me smack you!" Brooke glared at her affectionately. "You're staying with me and Julian."

"Yeah," Julian said. "No arguments."

"Guys, I don't want to impose—"

"Peyton, we live in a condo. There are two other units and plenty of space, so no excuses," Brooke said with finality. "You're welcome to stay there as long as you want."

Once again, Peyton's eyes burned. Where would she be without people like Brooke in her life? "Thanks. I promise I won't be there too long, just until I can find a job and get a place of my own—"

"Peyton." Brooke placed her hands on her shoulders and looked her directly in the eye. "As long as you want or need."

Overcome with emotion, Peyton hugged her best friend a second time.

"Wow, this is like a dream come true," Julian said. "Me, a condo, and two girls. No telling what can happen."

Brooke pulled out of her hug with Peyton to smack her husband and Peyton followed her best friend's lead. "Shut-up!" Brooke said. "You need to get away from Skillz, he's a bad influence."

Peyton laughed louder than she probably had in years. It felt so good to be around genuine people who truly loved and cared about each other.

"Sorry, sorry," said Julian. "It's just less depressing hanging out with him than Luc—"

Julian caught himself, but it was too late. Peyton's heart hammered in her chest and she saw Brooke shoot her husband a pointed look.

"My bad," Julian said sheepishly.

Peyton shook her head. "It's okay. It's his town, too, so I'll have to see him eventually." She saw the worried looks Brooke and Julian were giving her and decided to risk a question that had been burning inside her for years. "How is he?"

Husband and wife exchanged glances that Peyton knew only the other was meant to interpret. As wrong as it was, she found herself slightly envious; she remembered when she and Lucas had used to be able to do that; she'd certainly never been able to with Dean.

Brooke turned back to her. "Well…the good news is, he's not driving like a maniac and doing donuts in parking lots, but…he's not really 'Lucas' either, if that makes any sense."

Peyton frowned. She didn't know what that meant and she had the feeling neither Brooke or Julian was willing to offer more at this point. She decided not to push it for now. She was tired, jet-lagged and just wanted a few hours of sleep.

Peyton let out a breath. "Anyway, let's get out of here. I need some fresh air."

"Definitely," Brooke said. She turned to Julian. "Well, what are you waiting for? Take her bag for her."

"Yes m'am," said Julian sarcastically. Peyton chuckled and gratefully surrendered her overnight bag to him and the three of them made their way out to the parking lot.

The morning breeze, embellished with sea-salt, gently ruffled her long mane of brownish-blonde hair as Peyton breathed deeply, savoring the familiar North Carolina air. It was good to be back. The group of three reached Julian's Jeep Wrangler which had already been remotely started. Julian graciously loaded Peyton's bag into the trunk-area before climbing in behind the wheel. Peyton and Brooke piled into the back seat together.

As Julian began trying to navigate the gridlock of airport traffic, Brooke turned to Peyton. "So you want to fill me in, P. Sawyer?"

Peyton sighed, her brief moment of euphoria at being back in Tree Hill dissolving like footprints beneath the tide. She would've rather waited at least a day before talking about this but she knew Brooke deserved an explanation. "I lost my job with Acoustic."

Acoustic Arts was a graphic design firm in Los Angeles that specialized in designing album covers, promo posters and websites for bands and artists, and any music-related art. Having done artwork for Clothes Over Bro's for a short time, Peyton had built up a reputation in New York after a few months as a top-notch graphic designer. A couple of months after her marriage to Dean had been annulled, she'd decided to pack up and move back to LA. Brooke had begged her to stay in New York, but with Dean around and so closely associated with C over B, it hadn't seemed like a great idea. Tree Hill had been out of the question, at least back then, so that had left Los Angeles, a place where she at least still had contacts and acquaintances. One of those had set her up with Acoustic Arts.

Peyton's dream had always been to work in the music industry, and while she'd walked away from that at the end of her first stay in LA, handling the graphic side of music had been the next best thing. She'd been good at it, too, earning the respect of her colleagues and her bosses. But that had all come crashing down a few days ago.

"They fired you?! Why?" Brooke's face relayed her shock.

"Jeff." Peyton spat out the name.

Brooke scowled in disgust. "Why am I not surprised."

Jeff Martin was Dean's step-brother. His father, a major real-estate tycoon on the East Coast, had married Dean's mother and ever since, he'd attached himself to Dean like a barnacle. Jeff was Peyton's age and a typical trust-fund baby: he had no job and spent the majority of his time partying at the most exclusive clubs, getting drunk at bars, and street-racing. He'd also made his dislike of Peyton abundantly clear from almost the first moment she'd started dating Dean. For whatever reason, Dean had always seemed reluctant to call his younger step-brother out on the way he treated his girlfriend, something that should have been a major clue that she hadn't been with the right guy.

Of course, the fact that she had never stopped being completely in love with her ex and only married Dean because she hadn't wanted to hurt his feelings should've been an even bigger clue.

"What did that asshole do?" Julian asked, his voice hard and cold.

Peyton didn't blame him. A few months after she'd started dating Dean, the four of them had been double-dating at a rather popular New York club when Jeff and some of his buddies had walked in, already drunk from a night on the town, and had invited themselves over to the table she, Dean, Brooke, and Julian had been sitting at. For the rest of the night, Jeff had repeatedly and obnoxiously hit on Brooke right in front of Julian. Later on, when Julian had stepped away to use the bathroom, Brooke had finally had enough and told Jeff off in a humiliating and very public way.

So Jeff angrily threw a drink on the brunette. Needless to say, Julian, who had seen the whole thing on his way back to the table, had not been pleased. He'd gotten right in Jeff's face and the shorter man, in typical fashion, had cowered away. Fortunately, Peyton and Brooke had been able to calm him down, and they all departed after that.

"He showed up in LA a month ago and for some stupid reason, Sire Records decided to sign him as a solo artist," Peyton said. "He can barely sing, but his reputation on the club-scene has earned him a lot of attention from TMZ, so my old idiot-boss, John Knight, thought he could be 'developed.'" Peyton used air-quotations for effect.

From the front, Julian snorted in disgust. Brooke just shook her head in disbelief. "Unbelievable."

Peyton let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah. And guess who got assigned to do the cover-art and promo posters for his debut album?"

Brooke's brow crinkled in sympathy. "Oh Peyton, I'm so sorry."

Peyton shook her head. "It's crazy, right? I mean, I quit my job there two years ago because I wanted to get away from crap like that, and in the end, I got pulled back in."

"Would this be a bad time to insert a 'Godfather' joke?" said Julian. The withering glare from his wife gave him his answer. "Guess so."

Peyton couldn't help but laugh. Brooke squeezed her hand. "So how bad was it?"

"Bad," Peyton said. "Even though Dean and I hadn't been together for over a year at that point, he still hated me and didn't hesitate to let me know it. Every sketch and concept I did for him he ridiculed and made me do over. And I just took it, Brooke. The old me wouldn't have put up with that, but it seems like I haven't been that person since…"

Brooke nodded knowingly but kept silent.

"Anyway," Peyton continued, "I had other projects I was in the middle of, but my bosses insisted I devote most of my attention to Jeff since he was seen as an up-and-coming sensation."

Brooke scoffed and Julian snorted again.

Peyton sighed. "Yeah, I know, it's ridiculous, right? But money talks and Jeff comes from very prominent money. His dad has connections to a lot of powerful people out in LA so his name held a lot of weight, plus his antics put him in the spotlight. It was business."

"Not the sort of business I'd ever be a part of," said Brooke.

"Here, here," Julian added.

Peyton knew Brooke was speaking from personal experience. The brunette had given up the chance to revive her company after Victoria's shenanigans had tanked it since it would've involved screwing the investors. Peyton herself had quit Sire Records years ago to avoid that type of 'business.'

"So how did it all end?"

Peyton took a deep breath before responding to her best friend. "Well, basically, I got fed up. We were having a meeting and he was going on about what a terrible artist I was, and then he said…"

Peyton paused, trying to hold down the anger and hurt.

"What did he say?" prodded Brooke.

Inhaling deeply, Peyton continued: "He said that both my mothers must've been ashamed to have such a terrible artist for a daughter."

Brooke hissed out a breath, fury lighting her eyes. "That scumbag."

"I knew I should've beaten him to a pulp when I had the chance," said Julian.

"Dean must've told him about the situation with my moms at some point," Peyton said. "Anyway, after he said that, I lost it. I tore all the concept art to pieces, let Jeff know exactly what I thought of him, told him what to go do with himself, and then I walked out. He bitched to the higher-ups at Acoustic and they fired me."

Brooke closed her eyes. "God Peyton, that sucks. But I'm glad the old fiery P. Sawyer made a comeback."

"She's not all-the-way back yet," said Peyton. "Truth is, I'm actually glad this happened. Sure, I did like doing artwork for albums and posters but it was never what I really wanted to do. Plus, LA was full of so many bad memories, even more than Tree Hill. And…I was lonely without you and everyone else."

"Oh Peyton…" Brooke embraced her as much as her seatbelt would allow.

Peyton sniffed, trying to quell the tide of emotion billowing up inside her. "Oh God, Brooke, I should've listened to you two years ago. I never should've married Dean."

"Hey, stop that," Brooke said. "Don't go beating yourself up, you were lost and confused and in a tough situation. Just be glad that you're out of it now and back home with the people that love you."

Dean hadn't been as obtuse as Brooke had thought. After a disastrous honeymoon and only a few weeks of awkwardness, he had come to realize that Peyton was in love with someone else and had only said 'I do' to protect his heart. He'd been crushed, and Peyton had felt horrible, but in the end, an annulment had been the right move. Their marriage had been a lie right from the beginning and should never have been in the first place.

Finally, Julian managed to fight his way out of the airport and before long they were heading toward town. As Peyton watched the scenery pass by, and as Brooke held her hand tightly, her mind wandered.

What was she going to do with her life now? And what was Lucas doing?

xxxxx

When Lucas arrived at the café, he found the day's employee schedule and menu already laid out for him by Brooke. Once the kitchen staff and morning shift arrived, they all got to work without having to be told what to do and had required no oversight or intervention from Lucas, so he'd taken the opportunity to make himself some tea and watch the sunrise on the café rooftop like he usually did. He spent the rest of the morning and lunch hour mostly holed up in the back office, finishing up _The Iliad_, and had only had to come out and assist a couple of times: once when the cash register had started acting up and again to bounce an obnoxious customer out that had been harassing one of the waitresses.

Lucas realized he probably seemed odd; truth was, for the past couple of years, he hadn't been much of a people-person, generally preferring his own company to that of others. Outside of Brooke and Julian, and occasionally Skillz, he didn't talk to many people. Nathan and Haley had cut him out of their's and Jamie's lives two years ago after his 'accident' and they lived up in Charlotte anyway, so he didn't see or talk to them anymore. His mother didn't even know about the 'accident' and she was constantly on the seas with Andy and Lily in one of the former's yachts, or in New Zealand, so he saw them only once in a blue moon. Mouth was in Omaha heading his own sports segment on one of their major news channels, and then there were his colleagues at New Gothic Press, but he mostly corresponded with them electronically and it was business-related.

So at some point, Lucas had simply stopped being able to tolerate heavy doses of social interaction for more than a few minutes. He'd gotten way too used to solitude and now it almost physically hurt to be exposed to large numbers of people for an extended period of time. Still, Brooke had entrusted the café to him for the day and he wasn't about to neglect the place or the people that worked there. At about 1:30, when the head waitress Trisha had an emergency, Lucas let her go and took her place behind the counter.

The chime of the bell announced a new patron and the spirited "What-up, what-up!" identified the patron as Skillz Taylor. Clad in black sweats and Raven's t-shirt, Skillz sauntered up to the counter. "Yo' Luke, heard you was running the joint for the day. How about a BLT on the house?"

"Nice try," said Lucas dryly. "That'll be 3.99."

An expression of mock-hurt broke out on Skillz's face. "For real? You not going to hook a brother up? That's cold, dawg."

"Maybe, but if I let you skip out on paying, Brooke will take a pound of my flesh." _What's left of it, anyway_, Lucas mused internally. "And then she'll come for yours."

Skillz frowned. "That's a good point." He chuckled lightly. "I'm just playing. I already ate, and I only have a few minutes. We're playing Bear Creek this Saturday and I should be working on my plays, I just wanted to stop by and see if you was going to be there."

Skillz had been coaching the Ravens for about a year now. He was always prodding Lucas to come to the games but Lucas always found an excuse not to. Aside from the aforementioned social sunburn, that gym just held too many memories. "I don't think so, sorry Skillz."

Skillz didn't hide his disappointment. "C'mon man, for old time's sake? If not for the game itself at least to see your boy do his thing?"

Lucas swallowed guilt. He felt like a shit and was getting ready to say no, but Skillz's pleading face swayed him. If he could handle the café for the day, how bad could one game be? "Alright, I'll be there."

The other man's face burst out into a smile. "That's what I'm talking about! You my dawg!" He slapped hands with Lucas before turning to leave. "I got to get back but I'll see you there."

Lucas only nodded as he watched Skillz positively bounce out of the café. He sighed, taking a seat on one of the four-legged stools set up behind the counter.

He wondered if there would ever come a time where he'd feel like himself again.

xxxxx

After settling down in the master suite on the second floor of Brooke and Julian's condo, Peyton stepped out through a set of double-doors and onto a sizeable balcony. Leaning on the guard-rail, she took in the unobstructed view of the Atlantic and let the scent of salty brine and the sounds of seagulls wash over her. To her left, she could glimpse an expansive harbor adorned with fleets of yachts and expensive-looking boats. To her right, past a quarter-mile stretch of sandy beach, was a small, two-story beach house.

Peyton was amazed that Brooke had retained enough of her personal fortune after the collapse of Clothes Over Bro's to afford a place like this, though she supposed having a well-to-do indie movie producer as a husband helped.

"Killer view, huh?" The click of Brooke's heels announced her presence before her voice did.

"Definitely," Peyton said.

The brunette was carrying two mugs of coffee and handed one off to Peyton, who accepted gratefully. The blonde was still fried from the plane-ride but she'd found herself unable to sleep. Maybe it was the fact that it was mid-day, but the truth was, she was just too wired. The idea of seeing Lucas again, and the gut-clenching mix of terror and excitement that accompanied it, was preventing her from getting any shut-eye.

"Thought you'd be out like a light by now," Brooke said.

Peyton blew out breath before sipping gently from the mug. "So did I, but I can't seem to turn my mind off."

Brooke squeezed her shoulder gently. "It's going to be okay, P. Sawyer. You'll see."

"Oh, Brooke…" Peyton sighed, desperately searching for the proper words to express the maelstrom of emotions and anxiety within her. "What am I going to do now? How am I going to deal with seeing…him.."

The brunette just rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "You'll just have to take it one day at a time. And like I said, it's all going to be okay, I promise."

Though her best friend's words comforted her, Peyton couldn't help but imagine how much better those words would sound coming from _his_ mouth.

Unconsciously, Peyton's stare was drawn to the beach house on her right.

xxxxx

Night fell and Lucas was mentally exhausted. With a sigh of relief, he flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and instructed the remaining employees that they could all go home. Alone in the café, Lucas tidied up, tallied the register, checked to make sure everything was clean and as it should be, then locked the place up and started for home, sending Brooke a text with the day's revenue.

Pulling the Audi into the driveway of his beach home, Lucas shut the car down, locked it, and let himself into his house, depositing his Kindle on the kitchen counter. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the darkened den, the cobalt glow of the roiling Atlantic faintly accented the furniture and the shades, making Lucas all the more eager to get out there for his nightly walk. He needed to clear the cobwebs from his head, courtesy of a day's worth of mostly sedentary vigilance.

Outside, the sandy beach was like grainy cotton beneath the cleats of his sneakers as he carefully made his way up the shoreline in the direction of Brooke and Julian's place. The cool, salty breath of the ocean ruffled his short, messy blond hair slightly and his scar-tissue seemed to pulse with a subtle warmth.

Lucas suddenly got the impression that he was being watched. He stopped and cautiously examined his surroundings.

Abruptly, Lucas's gaze was drawn to a figure on the second-floor balcony of Brooke and Julian's condo. From this far away, Lucas couldn't make out any distinguishing features, but it was definitely female. Was Brooke doing some ocean-gazing maybe?

As Lucas squinted, his heart almost slammed to a halt: was that…reddish-blonde hair? No! It couldn't be…

There's no way it was _her_, but…

"—_Brooke and I have to go pick someone up from the airport and help them get settled in—"_

Julian's words from earlier rang in his head. Standing in place, Lucas stared hard at the distant figure on the balcony. It was dark, there was no moon or stars out tonight and shadows could play tricks on the eye. It was probably just Brooke getting some fresh air.

Still, even though he wasn't close enough to tell, it seemed to him that the person was looking directly at him, so he turned slightly and started off toward town, ducking out of the balcony's line-of-sight. He took in a deep, steady breath and tried to quell the rising anxiety inside him. Anxiety, and maybe exhilaration.

Lucas turned and glanced back at the roiling ocean. He sensed a storm coming.

**~Chapter Five End**


	6. Old Wounds

**A/N: **I know it's been an unforgivably long time since I've updated this story but it's been a complicated and very busy year and I've been struggling to find the time and drive to write. Fortunately, it's finally come and now I think I'm finally in a position to continue this story. Make no mistake: this story will be finished one way or the other, I promise you that. As of right now, I've just gotten my B.A., I'm trying to find work, and on top of that, I'm working on a short story so please be patient with me.

Anyway, at long last, here is chapter six. To anyone that still cares about this story and is still paying attention, you have my thanks.**  
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**SAVE A PLACE**

**6. Old Wounds**

Four days and five nights, including this one.

That's how long Peyton had been back in Tree Hill, staying at Brooke and Julian's place. And on each of those nights, this one being no exception, Peyton had stood on the second-floor balcony and watched the love of her life exit his beach house, pace the shore, disappear into town for about half-an-hour, then return like clockwork and slip back into his house. The first night, he'd stood there by the tide and she could've sworn he'd looked directly at her.

Lucas Scott was living next door. Of course Peyton had known that both Brooke and Julian saw and talked to Lucas on a semi-regular basis but she'd had no clue he was living only a block away. It just didn't seem real, and yet, there he was.

Peyton yearned to talk to him. She wanted to run up to him, throw her arms around him, kiss him senseless, and tell him exactly how she felt. But she also wanted to yell at him for letting her walk down that aisle two years ago; for not fighting for her, for abandoning her back in LA five years ago. Instead, she watched him from afar, tormented by indecision and fear. She knew almost nothing about what his life was like now. She hadn't had the courage to ask Brooke anything. Was he seeing someone? Was that someone living with him? What was he doing with himself? Was he happy? Where did he go on his nightly strolls? Did he still love her? Did he hate her?

The last time they'd spoken had been in front of a beauty salon and she'd stupidly asked him to come to her wedding. He'd been hurt then, inside and out, and Peyton had wanted nothing more than to take that hurt away. And now, somehow, she sensed he was still hurting. He seemed lost, wandering the beach at night, meandering into town; Peyton sensed that he was desperately searching for something or trying to escape from something, and she wanted more than anything to know what.

Yet she avoided him. She knew from Brooke that he came to the café every morning to watch the sunrise on the rooftop so Peyton had made it a point to avoid the place before the lunch hour. But when night fell, she parked herself on this balcony and gazed at him from a distance.

Above her, ebony clouds swelled with moisture and the tiny, chilly tickle of drizzle on her cheek and exposed neckline served as a faint warning of the impending rain. Lucas had come and gone a couple of hours ago and was currently holed up in his house. Sighing, Peyton stepped back into her room, gently shutting the glass door behind her. Not more than a minute later, the heavens opened up and began pelting the windows and balcony with skeins of bullet-sized rain. The cacophonous hiss of the downpour and the wet tapping and clicking of its impact on the roof made for a serious racket. It might even have been romantic under different circumstances, but not now.

She collapsed on the bed, not even bothering to change into night clothes, and stared up at the white ceiling. Hoping the staccato pattering of the rain would lull her to sleep, Peyton shut her eyes and tried to let herself drift off. No such luck. Frustrated, Peyton propelled herself to her feet and began rifling through the dresser. Locating a sleek, gray hoody, she threw it on then went to the closet to retrieve a pair of black-leather boots and an umbrella.

Maybe a stroll through the pouring rain would tire her out.

xxxxx

_He is shivering in agony; unceasing tremors rack his body as he sits upright. People are all around him, darting this way and that, frantically poking and prodding at his peeling, melted flesh. His right arm is eviscerated, or so it seems, and the slightest touch of it and the jagged metal protruding from it sparks an excruciating explosion in his nerves. Yet it is the burning, the continuous searing torment, that causes him to tremble uncontrollably._

_He sees no flames, only blood, pus, and ooze congealing in puddles around him and trailing off onto the floor. He smells no smoke, only rancid copper blended with broiled tissue. But he feels as though he is still on fire. He wants to beg the hands grabbing at him, fussing over him, to pour water on him, to douse out these hideous flames, but he cannot speak. He desperately wants the burning to end; it penetrates him down to his bones and beyond, to the very core of him._

_He needs to extinguish this fire, he needs—_

-the clatter of rain. The storm pelted the house relentlessly, whispering harshly, and to Lucas it was like a Siren's call. He sat up in bed, half-delirious, scratching at his scarred flesh. It burned; he was still on fire somehow, and he needed relief. His heart thundered in his chest and he gasped for air. He launched himself out of his bed and stumbled out into the second-floor hall and down the stairs to the first floor.

Through the den windows, within the miasmic night, he glimpsed the rain soaking the beach. Rain, he needed the rain; it would snuff the flames searing his skin. Lucas made a mad dash for the den. He threw himself up against the glass door, frantically fooling with the lock. _Come on, dammit, open!_ Finally, mercifully, it gave way and Lucas burst out into the storm.

The rain embraced him vigorously, soaking him, caressing him, banishing the hateful fires, bringing peace to his blazing skin. The feel of the chilled torrents saturating him was euphoric, intoxicating, and Lucas bounded across the back porch, down the attached boardwalk, and onto the mushy sand of the beach barefoot. A few feet from the tide, Lucas gazed out into the murky waters. He wanted to run out and dive into the ocean, let the blissful waves engulf him, take him away. His pulse still pounded, vibrating inside him like a massive sub-woofer. His inhalations were ragged, desperate and his eyes hurt from being strained so wide.

The flames had been put out, thank God. He looked down at his arms. Gradually, his pulse relaxed, his breathing evened out, and the fuzz in his head dispelled itself. Through the dark mist of rain, Lucas noted the years-old burn-scars on his left arm and the thin suture mark that crawled up his right arm, also years-old. He had not been on fire, at least not lately. He had only been dreaming a moment ago, and the searing pain had just been residue from that nightmare.

He blew out a large breath. His short hair was matted against his scalp, collecting moisture, which sluiced down the sides of his face and dribbled off his chin and lower jaw in fat droplets. His white t-shirt and dark-blue checkered pajama-bottoms were plastered to his skin and the sand of the beach was like pudding beneath his feet. Lucas stood rooted to the spot, staring at the roiling blackness of the Atlantic, barraged by rain.

This had never happened before. He'd had plenty of nightmares over the past two years, but nothing like this. As he stood there in the downpour on the sand that served his beach house, gawking at the ocean, Lucas couldn't believe he'd actually run out barefooted in the middle of a late-night storm in only his night clothes.

He was about to turn and shuffle back to his house when he heard the voice. It was a voice that was both melodic and painful to hear; one that excited him and frightened him at the same time; a voice that he had never expected to grace his ears again.

"Lucas?"

xxxxx

The umbrella Peyton had deployed over her deflected the onslaught of rain, splicing the torrents of heavenly moisture into rivulets that trailed down the edges as her boots traversed the saturated beach in the direction of Lucas's house. She had not consciously intended to walk this way but her body seemed to be on autopilot. Embarrassing as it was to admit, Peyton had peaked around Lucas's place a couple of times already during the day when she knew he hadn't been home.

She didn't think that was creepy or stalker-ish, she'd just been curious. It was a nice, quaint little two-story house with an attached garage, a wrap-around porch, a boardwalk that extended several feet down the grassy-hill the house was situated on and terminated near the beach, and a pool and gazebo in the backyard.

Okay, so maybe it was a _little_ creepy and stalker-ish.

But the few times Peyton had seen the place up-close during the day it had struck a chord deep within her. It looked so cozy; exactly the sort of starter-home she would've pictured _them_ living together in as newlyweds, had things been different. Not for the first time, she couldn't help but wonder if he lived there alone. The thought that he might not was too much to bear.

The rain continued to wail on the night-cloaked landscape as Peyton approached the stretch of beach that serviced Lucas's house. Holding the umbrella in place vice-like, she stopped suddenly when she saw a figure several feet in front of her. It was a 'he,' she could tell that much, and it seemed to radiate a ghostly-pale light. Then she realized the person was wearing a white t-shirt.

Peyton held her position, cautiously appraising the figure. The rain, dark, and distance obscured much of the person's features and Peyton found herself squinting, trying to peel away the layers of storm and night so that she could get a better look at the individual. Why was someone just standing out there in the rain, in the middle of the night, with just a t-shirt and what looked like pajama-bottoms?

She briefly entertained the notion of briskly turning around and heading back the way she'd come, but Peyton stayed rooted to the spot. Something about this person…

Slowly, she crept forward, closing the distance between herself and the mysterious figure. As she approached, she began to make out more characteristics through the shadow and gloom. Chiseled, angular features, a lean and well-built frame, small, up-turned nose…

Peyton froze within only a few paces of the figure, pulse suddenly taking off like a jet. Lucas. It was Lucas. He hadn't noticed her yet, he seemed to be too busy looking down at his hands and arms. What on earth was he doing out here in the middle of this storm without even an umbrella?

Peyton inched towards him nervously and gradually found her voice.

"Lucas?"

His head snapped towards her and Peyton halted yet again, only a few inches from him. His steely-blue eyes bored into her. Was he shocked to see her? Angry? Hurt? Peyton couldn't tell, and that killed her. She used to be able to read his eyes, at least most of the time.

"Peyton?"

His voice was faint, slightly confused. As Peyton stared at him, dark-blond hair matted to his skull, white-t and pajama bottoms plastered to his skin, she wondered if she was sleepwalking. "What are you doing out here? Are you okay?"

He didn't respond to her at first; instead he looked away and out toward the ocean, then down at his hands again. "I…I don't know. I was dreaming, and…I-I don't know." His eyes focused on her again and, for a split-second, Peyton caught a flash of heart-breaking vulnerability and desperation in them.

What had happened?

xxxxx

The last of the fog cleared from Lucas's mind and he found himself gaping at the vision in front of him. For an insane instant, he wondered if she was a figment of his imagination; a straggler from his unconscious that had opted to remain with him outside of dreamland.

But no, he knew without a doubt that Peyton Sawyer was here, now, standing right before him, umbrella in hand. Sheets of thick rain assaulted them and peppered the sand around them. Suddenly, the umbrella was over him as well, and the rain tapped furiously on the navy-blue fabric, as if it were angry that it couldn't get to them.

Lucas sucked in a breath, and the familiar scent stirred something deep inside him. Barely an inch away from him was the woman that had haunted his thoughts for almost five years. He hadn't laid eyes on her since he'd glimpsed her from afar on the day of her wedding two years ago. He hadn't been anywhere near this close to her since their awkward encounter in front of a hair salon the day before said wedding.

And yet here he was, sharing an umbrella with Peyton Sawyer, who had seemingly materialized out of nowhere. Lucas seriously wondered if he was still dreaming. She was as gorgeous as when he'd last seen her. Clad in only a gray hoody and form-fitting jeans, her long mane of brownish-reddish-blonde waves and ringlets looked so soft it made him want to run a hand through it. Her green eyes were big and earnest, and they radiated puzzlement and…something else, maybe? He couldn't tell and that bothered him since he used to be so good at reading them.

"Are you alright?" Her husky voice was tinged with concern.

No. No, he wasn't alright but he couldn't really say as much. Instead, he said: "Yeah, I just had a bad dream and then somehow, I was out here. It's nothing."

"It doesn't seem like nothing," she said.

_You have no idea_, he wanted to say. It was only then that he noticed the absence of a ring on the hand holding the umbrella. He risked a glance at her other hand and was surprised that it too lacked a ring. What the hell?

Now fully awake and no longer disoriented, Lucas's mind began to whirl. Obviously, Peyton was the 'friend' Brooke and Julian had picked up at the airport a few days ago and she was the one that had been on the balcony of their condo staring down at him that night. And she wasn't wearing her wedding ring. So what the hell was going on? Why wasn't she wearing her ring? Was it possible that…?

"Luke?"

Her voice snapped him back to real time. "Sorry…sorry about this. I guess I'll just…"

"It's okay, don't apologize," she said. "Why don't we get you inside where it's dry?"

Lucas's heart skipped a beat. Peyton Sawyer inside his house; it was almost like junior high all over again. Back then, he'd only been able to fantasize about the idea of Peyton setting foot in his home. And now, ten years later, on this stormy night, haunted by nightmares and damaged by life, here he was having those same feelings. It was all so fucked up. Lucas wanted Peyton in his home, in his bedroom, in every part of him, and yet, he was terrified of being around her and wanted to run somewhere far away right at this moment. Either way, he was dancing on very thin ice.

"Don't trouble yourself," he said. "I'll be fine. You should head home."

"Luke, I'm not going to leave you out here to get drenched when I have a perfectly good umbrella to share. So let's go," she said in a tone that brooked no argument, her green eyes flashing with fire.

Once again, Lucas felt his heart palpitate. He silently acquiesced and the two made their way onto the boardwalk and up the grassy hill on which his property stood, the umbrella guarding against the rain. As his bare feet padded soundlessly on the moist wood and her heeled boots clicked, a million questions swarmed in Lucas's head and he figured it was the same for Peyton. Neither of them spoke, though. Her scent washed over him and incited the butterflies in his stomach to frantic movement.

They reached the back porch of his house and the awning took over for the umbrella. Peyton collapsed the apparatus and shook as much of the accumulated water from the fabric as she could. The glass door that Lucas had frantically barged through in his delirium earlier stood open. For a minute, they just stood there sheepishly, neither of them knowing what to say or do.

Lucas felt as though he should invite her in even though he thought it would be inappropriate. It was only then that his body caught up with his mind and he realized that he was drenched head-to-toe and chilled to the bone. Except for the curious sensations of warmth that drifted across his left arm and parts of his back and collar, and seemed to slither up his right arm.

_His scars!_ How had he not realized till right this instant that in only a t-shirt he was this exposed? Peyton's eyes were no longer on his but were now resting on his right arm. The damned laceration was more noticeable in the dark than the burns and it was obvious that Peyton had finally spotted it. Shit! He crossed his arms, trying to obscure as much of the mark as he could with his left.

Peyton's eyes found his again and Lucas could see the shock in them. Pulse hammering, he waited with trepidation, bracing himself for the salvo of questions that would inevitably come out of her mouth. But she said nothing. That was almost as bad.

"So…I guess you should get home," Lucas said. "Thank you, though."

He thought he saw hurt in her expression. Truthfully, Lucas had to fight the urge to ask her to come inside with him; he wanted that more than anything. But he couldn't. Too much had happened between them, there were too many things he'd have to explain, and he didn't even know what the situation was with her and her husband, ring or no ring. He wanted her to stay but she had to leave.

Peyton gave a forlorn nod. "Yeah…yeah, you're right. I guess I'll see you around, Luke."

As the blonde redeployed her umbrella and set out into the storm once again, Lucas's eyes stayed fixed on her as she made her way down the boardwalk and onto the beach. Even after she disappeared out of sight into the misty, rainy night, Lucas stood rooted to the spot, still dripping wet.

What just happened?

xxxxx

"What happened to Lucas?"

Brooke's coffee-mug froze near her lips and the brunette stared at Peyton as if she'd just started speaking Latin all the sudden. It was a crappy way to greet her best friend and benefactor first thing in the morning, Peyton realized, but she absolutely needed to know. She hadn't gotten so much as a second of sleep last night after she'd returned soggy and stunned from her encounter with Lucas. She had actually considered the possibility that she really had fallen asleep and dreamed the whole thing but she knew very well it had been real; as real as the pink vine-like scar that curved up and down Lucas's arm.

Peyton was no doctor but she knew a thing or two about scars. After all, she'd been living with a permanent if not small one near her right ankle since that horrible day back in senior year of high school when she'd ended up on the wrong end of a troubled classmate's gun. The one she'd seen on Lucas hadn't been trivial and Peyton couldn't help but assume it had something to do with his odd behavior. So that was why she was bugging Brooke, who looked every bit the deer in headlights as she messily gulped at her coffee before setting the mug down on the counter.

"Okay, a) good morning to you, too, and b) what are you talking about?" Brooke's expression seemed to be genuine puzzlement.

"You mean you don't know?" said Peyton, surprised at the confusion on Brooke's face. "How can you not know?"

"Umm…because I can't know what I don't know?" The brunette's left eyebrow was thoroughly cocked as she cautiously sipped at her mug.

Peyton huffed. "The scar. On his right arm."

At that, Brooke's eyes widened slightly. "His arm? There's a scar on his arm? I only noticed the one on the back of his neck."

"Wait, his neck?" Peyton hadn't noticed it last night, though it had been dark. "What are you talking about?"

"Okay, okay, time out." Brooke set her mug down on the counter and sat down beside Peyton. "Obviously, we need to uncross our wires if we're going to get anywhere. When and how did you see this scar on Lucas's arm? For that matter, when did you even talk to him?"

Peyton told her about last night. The brunette was genuinely shocked.

"Wow," Brooke said. "I had no idea. Every time I've seen him he's always been wearing long-sleeved shirts. No wonder."

"I don't get it, Brooke. I talk to Nathan and Haley pretty frequently, and Karen every once in awhile, and none of them have ever even hinted at Lucas getting injured," said Peyton.

"Yeah, same here. Whatever happened, Haley won't talk about it and I don't feel right asking Nathan about it behind his wife's back." Brooke set down her mug and leaned in toward Peyton somewhat. "And to be honest, I'm not sure Karen even knows about it."

Peyton gaped at her best friend. "What? How could that be? What is going on here, Brooke?"

Brooke raised her hands. "I have no idea, P. Sawyer. Your guess is as good as mine."

Blowing out a sigh, Peyton propped her elbows on the polished marble of the breakfast counter and rested her chin on her knuckles. "I swear, this town is like the universal nexus of drama."

The brunette bobbed her head in ascent. "Yeah, it's practically the perfect setting for a long-running soap opera."

Peyton cracked a half-smile at that. Still, she promised herself in that very instant that she was going to find out what had happened to Lucas. She needed a strategy, but she'd think about that later.

"Hungry?"

As if in direct response to Brooke's inquiry, Peyton's stomach grumbled. "Now that you mention it, yeah."

"How 'bout we have breakfast at the Café? My treat."

Peyton hesitated. Lucas would probably be there. But maybe that was a good thing; she was done hiding from him. "Yeah, sure, that'd be great. But could you treat me to some coffee first? It's still dark outside."

Brooke rolled her eyes as she stood up and made her way over to the coffee-maker. "Gee, I hardly noticed. I was too busy being interrogated."

Peyton flushed with guilt. "I'm sorry. You know I can never repay you for what you're doing for me, right?"

Removing a milky-white mug wrapped in water-colored cats from the cabinet and setting it down on the counter with a glassy thud, Brooke stared at Peyton as she filled it with the pitcher she'd removed from the coffee maker. "Don't be ridiculous, Peyton. You're my best friend, and that's what best friends do for each other. Haven't we been over this?"

Peyton smiled as she accepted the mug from Brooke. "Yeah, I guess I'm a little slow. Thanks."

"Anyway," said Brooke as Peyton sipped coffee, "since Julian is usually gone most of the day, it's nice to have someone to come home to."

Peyton glanced around. "He's not here? I didn't hear him leave."

Brooke sighed. "Yeah, he's location-scouting in Wilmington for his latest production."

Peyton studied her friend. Julian was passionate about his work—nothing wrong with that—but Peyton just hoped he wasn't letting it distract him from what was really important. Peyton had no doubts about how much Julian loved Brooke; it was just the protective instinct in her flaring up. She reached over and took the brunette's hand.

"You know, if you want Julian to be around more, maybe you should tell him that," Peyton said gently.

Brooke shook her head, giving Peyton's hand a squeeze. "No, it's not that. We trade texts and emails several times a day, and he comes to the café for lunch most of the time, so we're never out of touch, and he's only like twenty minutes away, it's just…I wish he'd slow down a little, you know?"

Peyton set her mug down and got up, circling around the counter where her best friend was. Placing and arm around the brunette's shoulders. "I know. Just talk to him, he'll understand."

Brooke nodded. "You're right. Anyway, let me get cleaned up and we can head to the café."

Peyton smiled as she watched Brooke dump the rest of her coffee and shuffle off to her bedroom. Her smiled gradually faded as she turned toward the window above the sink and peered out into the early-morning darkness. Now if only she could figure out what she was going to do now.

xxxxx

Lucas told himself he wasn't hiding. That he'd just had to skip his usual jaunt to the café and viewing of the sunrise from the café roof because he'd needed to get an early start on his work—and to be fair, he had gotten a lot of work done throughout the day—and not because he was afraid of being accosted by Brooke, whom Peyton had no doubt told about his stroll through the pouring rain last night, or running into the blonde herself.

No, he'd just been busy, glued to his Ultrabook, his digits chiseling away at the keys, editing, revising, tweaking; it had all needed to be done. He'd been holed up in his house all day for the sake of industriousness, no other reason. Still, despite all of his self-assurances, he'd found himself slinking every time he'd had to get up and do something, shoulders hunched as though he were back to being a preadolescent boy that knew he was guilty of something and was desperately trying to hide it.

He spent almost every moment anticipating a knock at his back door or the ringing of the doorbell—Brooke or Peyton, or maybe even both, looking for an explanation as to why he'd been strolling along the rain-soaked beach in his night-clothes. The joke would be on them, though, because he didn't have one.

God, was Lucas mortified. He was almost used to the nightmares, but even in the throes of the worst of them he'd never actually gotten up and wandered outside his house half-delirious. And to run into Peyton, the girl that had been haunting him constantly for years, while doing it…he just couldn't believe it had actually happened. He'd tried to pretend it'd been part of the nightmare but he knew that wasn't the case.

Fortunately, neither the knock nor the sound of the bell had come though his nerves were still wound tighter than a runner's laces. Either way, it was likely he was going to face some tough questions the next time he walked into the café.

The day was fading fast as Lucas saved his document and exited out of Word and it was only then that he noticed he had an email. It was from his mother:

_Hi Baby-boy, how are you? It feels like it's been ages since we talked, I've missed you and so has Lily.:(_

_Speaking of which, Lily wrote you a letter—yes, she's writing now, can you believe it?—and I was hoping she could give it to you herself. Andy and I are planning on swinging by Tree Hill next week for a visit and were hoping we could stay with you, if you have room. I just realized I haven't even seen your new house yet! If you don't have the space, that's okay, just let me know ahead of time._

_I'm really looking forward to seeing you, it's been too long._

_-Mom_

A sickly miasma of alarm, guilt, and yearning billowed up in Lucas's chest. Lily was _writing_ now? Since when? He hadn't seen his mother or his little sister in person since before the accident, and had corresponded with them sporadically. He'd always given some excuse about why he couldn't visit or why they couldn't visit but now Lucas knew he was out of excuses.

Of course, she didn't even know about the accident. He and Nathan and Haley had all reached a consensus that it was best his mother didn't find out, at least not at the time. He wouldn't be able to hide it forever. Hiding the scars would be simple, but when it came time to explain to his mother what had happened to Keith's Mustang he wasn't sure if he could stomach lying to her about it. It would feel almost like spitting on Keith's headstone.

Letting out a sigh Lucas typed out a quick reply assuring his mother that he had no problems with her, Lily, and Andy staying at his house. He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

As he was about exit out of his account, another email popped into his inbox. It was from Hamilton:

_Hey Lucas, hope you're taking care of yourself._

_It's been awhile and I definitely think we should get together for lunch or maybe even a pick-up game; I've been so swamped lately I haven't had much time for exercise. My wife bitches about it all the time. _

_Pro-tip: Never get married._

Lucas grinned; Hamilton's sense of humor was always refreshing. His grin faded as he read the rest of the email.

_Anyway, I linked an article from that I think you're going to find very interesting. Looks like karma is a bitch after all._

_Take care._

_Mark Hamilton, Attorney at Law, PhD._

Lucas was pretty sure he knew what this was about, and when he clicked on the link, his suspicions were confirmed. I'll be damned, he thought. Mark was right, karma really was a bitch.

Stretching, Lucas noticed the time displayed on the tab at the bottom of his screen and realized he'd have to be at the high school soon if he wanted to make the game. He really didn't want to, but he'd promised Skillz he'd be there the other day and he liked to think that, if nothing else, his word was still good for something.

He powered down and closed up his Ultrabook and changed out of the white-t he was currently wearing, replacing it with his favorite long-sleeved white shirt with the hoody attached to the collar. Wasn't exactly a black-tie event and Lucas certainly wasn't looking to impress anybody. Besides, the hoody helped cover up the burn scars on the back of his neck better than his other shirts. This would be the first Raven's game he'd be attending since—well, since he'd been a Raven, and there was always the possibility of running into a familiar face or two. He didn't want to field any inconvenient questions so it was best to cover up as much as possible.

A few minutes later, he was on the road, behind the wheel of his Audi, sliding down the back roads toward the high school. In the fading twilight, the Audi's jet-black frame was like a shadow skulking in the trenches of an abyss, and indeed, the streets around Lucas seemed to have an abyssal quality to them. It was game night, and true to form, most of Tree Hill was already gathered at the field house waiting for the main event. No other lost souls aside from Lucas were wandering around out here and the quietness was like a gentle ocean tide.

This tide quickly dissolved, however, when he neared Tree Hill High. Even almost six years after the likes of Nathan Scott had graced the hardwood with his presence and the victory in the 2006 State Championship game against Pontiac, Ravens' games were still events that drew the majority of the townsfolk like a Fourth of July celebration. The parking lot and the gym itself were lit up like Madison Square Garden and the persistent blaring of car horns set the mood. The electronic signboard near the entrance flashed 'RAVENS – BEAR CREEK; Tonight 8pm' in big, abrasive yellow letters while someone dressed as the team mascot-or maybe it was the actual mascot-greeted incoming cars with an enthusiastic flap of its foam wings.

As Lucas passed the waving mascot he felt the strangest tidings of nostalgia and another emotion he couldn't put his finger on. How many times had he driven past that sign in Keith's Mustang or in the old tow-truck Keith had used to loan him on his way to class? Seemed like several lifetimes ago now. In fact, it was.

Lucas squinted his brow as he made his way into the parking lot. The place was packed, but since most everybody was either hanging around near the field house or already inside, his was the only car trolling around the aisles searching for a space. He finally spotted one beside a familiar BMW X-series SUV. As he approached and pulled in, Lucas noted the plates and realized it was, in fact, Brooke's Beamer. That surprised him a bit; he didn't know Brooke attended these games. Maybe Skillz had guilted her and Julian into it, too.

He got out, locked the car, and made his way toward the gym at a measured pace. He couldn't help but feel strangely exposed, as if he were trespassing. But as he approached the white-block columned breezeway that connected the school proper to the field house he was slammed by a squall of memories and feelings he'd thought long buried. His feet paused and instead of proceeding into the open doors of the gym, where the hauntingly familiar screech of rubber sole on polished hardwood and echoing thud of the dribble awaited him, he turned toward the set of glass doors that lead into the main building. None of the people milling about paid him any attention and if anyone asked, he'd just say he was looking for the restroom.

Lucas pushed through the glass doors and stepped into Tree Hill High for the first time in six years. The faint smell of linoleum and the characteristic dark-blue and amber color scheme sent him reeling back through time, when he'd treaded these halls on a daily basis. As he meandered through the corridors, he found all four of his old lockers, which had since apparently been upgraded into a more modern set. The classrooms hadn't changed much and neither had the tutor center or the coach's office. The latter was dark; Skillz was no doubt in the locker room or out in the gym by now.

Looking at his watch, which read 7:51, Lucas realized he should probably be, too, if he wanted to grab a seat before the game started. He quickened his pace toward the gym but slowed abruptly as he passed the library. There were memories there, too, ones Lucas didn't care to revisit. But as he was about to move on he spotted movement through the glass slats. Unable to resist his curiosity, he approached slightly and narrowed his eyes at the figure leaning against the circulation desk. It was Brooke, dressed in black leggings and a frilly-at-the-edges, dark-red top. She was obviously in a conversation with someone off behind one of the shelves, probably Julian. But it wasn't Julian who emerged from behind the shelf, it was Peyton.

Lucas's breath seized as his eyes raked over the dark-blonde's frame, which was adorned nicely with ripped jeans and a blue and red checkered button-down which was rolled up at the sleeves. Her reddish-blonde hair flowed down her back in rough waves, curling at some of the ends. Was it impossible for her not to look gorgeous?

Lucas hurried off toward the gym before either of them saw him. It should have occurred to him that if Brooke was here, Peyton likely would've tagged along. It was a stupid oversight but what was he going to do? He entered the gym and was immediately discomforted by the noise and the amount of people. In the past, this sort of set up would've invigorated him and stirred a wave of excitement deep in his gullet, but now he could barely tolerate the ocean of chatter and buzzing hive of activity.

Weeks in an overcrowded, understaffed burn unit had left him with an aversion to places swarming with too much activity.

Fortunately, he spotted a relatively barren spot high in the bleachers where it looked like he would at least have a measure of personal space. Carefully navigating his way through rows of spectators, Lucas finally reached the piney oasis and crouched down in the center, bringing his knees up and hunching forward, resting his folded hands in front. It gave him a pretty decent view of the court and it didn't seem like there were any last minute stragglers filing in so it looked like he'd have his little oasis to himself for the time being.

Then he spotted Brooke and Peyton entering the gym to his right, and after about a minute, Peyton spotted him. His eyes locked with her green ones and Lucas felt himself immediately cowed by their intensity. Images of last night flashed through his mind and he couldn't help but look down. Blood rushed through him and he couldn't stop himself from tensing.

When he looked back up he saw her and Brooke making their way up the bleachers and directly towards him.

"Oh boy…" he heard himself whisper.

**~Chapter Six End**


End file.
